Light of Ilúvatar
by Jimmy Candlestick
Summary: Takes place in LOTR. An Elf from the past is once again in possession of an ancient jewel. A King is ill, with no hope. What is the task for the mysterious Elf? And is there hope for the King? Rating may change.
1. Ch1 A Task Appointed

**Okay, this is my first LOTR fic. However, I am not asking you to be easy on me. I'm not yet sure what characters will be the most prominent, they all kinda have a part, if you know what I mean. But, please, enjoy!**

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Two figures walked along the beach, the water lapping at their bare feet

Two figures walked along the beach, the water lapping at their bare feet. The pair was made up of a grizzled old fisherman and a young lad of about sixteen. The old man was telling the boy tales of the beach, which the boy seemed to brush off, apparently not believing them.

"Old one," he was saying, "you oughtn't tell me of old wive's tales. They are for babes!"

"Lad," said the elder, suddenly stopping, "one as young as you shouldn't talk so to those who have seen many more years than you. What I say is true. Come, I will show you something."

The old man led the boy to a rockier beach that rose to become a cliff against the sea. Going only a few more yards inland, they arrived at a deep gorge in the earth.

The old man pointed. "Look down and tell me what you see."

Rolling his eyes, the younger complied. At first he saw nothing but darkness. Then something twinkled. He squinted. "The earth seems to have a star in its depths!"

"Aye. Some say it is the other side of Arda. Others say that it is a fallen star that never lost it's light. Still, more say, that it is a jewel made by one of the first born."

Dubious, the boy looked at the fisherman. "An Elf? I thought they were only myths."

The old man shrugged his response. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm inclined to think that tale true."

"For what reason-" The lad stopped abruptly. "Do you hear that?"

This time, the old man frowned. "What? My ears aren't what they used to be."

"Well then, hush and listen!" the boy said impatiently. "I believe it is someone singing."

After a moment or two, the old man finally detected the sound. Yes, it was a song! A sad, but beautiful melody. It was a strong, male voice in a strange language.

With sudden swiftness, the old man grabbed the boy and started for the seaside village.

"You want to know the reason? That is why, young one! When I was but a few years older than you, I heard and saw the singer. He was and Elf. I hid among the rocks to watch. He stopped at the gorge and sang that song. It seemed as if he was singing to someone. When he was done, he looked up and saw me. Never in my life have I seen so much grief in one's eyes. Never!"

The old man was right. It was an Elf. Tall, with dark hair and dark, sorrowful eyes. The language he was singing in is known and learned among the Elves as the High Tongue, or, Quenya. The first language spoken in Arda. The Elf did know the common tongue, but rarely used it sine he did not much deal with others.

He halted his steps at the gorge and ended his song of mourning. He bowed his head and lifted his hand to his heart in remembrance of his brother. He also saw the 'star,' and hated it. It had only brought his family trouble, and grief that lasted him two ages now.

A noise made him turn swiftly toward the sea, hand on his hilt. He relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Greetings, Maglor," Ulmo said.

"Greetings, Ulmo, old friend. You shouldn't startle me so," Maglor replied.

Ulmo just smiled, "I'm sorry, but being a Vala does little to remind myself to announce my presence."

Maglor let out a weak laugh. Since Maedhros' death, the second son of Feanor roamed the seaside. Because of this, Ulmo had decided to befriend the lonesome Elf. Though Maglor was hesitant at first, the two became firm friends.

"Ulmo, why do I get the feeling that this is not just a friendly visit?" Maglor asked, sensing something different about this meeting.

Ulmo let out a short laugh, "You know me well, Elf, because it is not. I am to inform you that you are to be sent on a quest."

Maglor raised his eyebrows. "A quest? Whatever does Manwë want me to do? I did not think he would trust me for such a thing."

"It is not Manwë who sent me," Ulmo replied. "It is Ilúvatar."

Maglor stared at him in shock. "Ilúvatar? Why? Does he trust me? He surely knows what I have done! What my family has done! And he trusts me with a task of some sort? Whatever for?"

Ulmo shrugged. "I know not the reason. But that is not my concern."

Maglor was silent.

"Maglor, friend, Ilúvatar has forgiven you! You just need to accept that forgiveness!"

After a moment, the Elf spoke. "What is this task I am to undertake?"

"You are to go to Gondor."

"Gondor? I have only heard rumors of it and most certainly do not know where it is!"

"I know. Ilúvatar has supplied you with a mount, falcon, and provisions. A map is in the saddle bag."

"What mount?"

Ulmo pointed behind the Elf.

Maglor turned to see a black stallion with a falcon perched on the saddle horn. "I do not need the reigns and saddle."

"You are to avoid revealing yourself as an Elf unto the right time."

Maglor's brow furrowed. "What am I to do in Gondor?"

"You are to take this," Ulmo stretched out his hand to reveal the very Silmaril that Maglor had cast into the sea.

The Elf's eyes widened. "I can't! It has burned my hand before and will burn it again! I cannot carry that jewel!"

"Your hand is no longer scarred," Ulmo said calmly.

Maglor looked at his hand. He was shocked. Where once was marred, hideously healed flesh, was now smooth, new skin. He touched it with his other hand. Though it used to be tough, wrinkly, and a dark tan, it was now soft and white with a slight tan. "It's been healed…"

"Ilúvatar healed it."

The Elf looked at the stone again. It was brighter, more pure.

"The light…"

"It has been renewed. Ilúvatar has put some of his light into it. And he is allowing you to carry it."

"But…what will I do with it?"

"You will find out. Ilúvatar has not revealed what it is needed for. But he did tell me to remind you of this, the original light could renew the light to the trees."

"How is that supposed to help me?"

Ulmo just smiled.

Maglor bit his lip. "The other Elves will not accept me."

"I know of one who will. Now go! If ever you are in need of aid, sing by a river, I will come."

Maglor nodded, swiftly mounted the horse, and left the sea for the first time in two ages.

**Quick note, I do allow Anonymous reviewers. -Jimmy Candlestick**


	2. Ch2 A Secret Kept

**Well lookey here, the next chapter in this story. This chappie should give you an idea of what time it is. Thanks to Ilada Jefiv, who is pretty much my beta. If you like this (so far) go check out some of her stuff, if you haven't already. Well, enjoy!**

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A twittering bird landed on a brach and ended it's song

A twittering bird landed on a branch and ended its song. Below, two Elves were in a sparring match, their blades glittering silver arcs, making ringing noised when they met. The bird cocked it's head, watching the action. He had had many conversations with the Elves from time to time and asked them why they fought with these things they called swords. For it was a curious thing to a creature who fought with beak and claw to use weapons. They answered why, and the bird commented that it looked like a dancing game. They would laugh, saying that is did look like a dancing game. A deadly dancing game.

Both the Elves were fair-haired with blue eyes. If one did not look too closely, they would have though that the Elves were about the same age. But that was not so. They were both tall but one was broader than the other, and older. Also, his eyes were a darker, deeper blue. They were both wearing the simple brown and green outfits of the Wood-Elves scouts. But as a matter of fact, the elder was King Thranduil, and the younger was his son, Legolas.

With a simple, yet swift, twist of the wrist, the king disarmed his only son, thereby winning the match. Laughing, Legolas retrieved his weapon and sat against a tree, his father joining him.

"Ada," Legolas said, "thank you for this afternoon! Watching the prisoner has gotten rather dull."

Thranduil gave a small laugh. "What's this? My son complaining about his work? Nay, ion-nin, I should be thanking you for joining me! And for helping me to convince the servants that we did not need them about! That is one thing I have always hated about being royalty, I must confess."

"Aye! So do me a favor, and keep the crown! It's much worse for you than me!" Legolas replied.

It was true, both king and son were not overly fond of being waited on, even though they loved the elves that did the job.

Thranduil leaned his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Legolas looked at his father, thinking he seemed rather tired. Indeed, the king looked pale and dim, the glow that surrounded Elves not as apparent as it was supposed to be. Thinking about it, Legolas realized that his father hadn't really been…himself, lately.

"Ada?"

Thranduil opened his eyes.

"Are you alright?" Legolas inquired, his eyes filled with worry.

"I'm quite fine," the king said with a smile. Then he frowned as he back turned towards the palaces' direction. "But not for long."

Legolas also turned, in time to see Galion appear.

"My lords," said the butler with a bow. "I'm afraid that I must remind you of the duties you must attend to."

Thranduil let slip an inaudible sigh as he answered, "Aye, Galion. We were done, anyway."

They arose and Thranduil, catching a look from Galion, motioned for Legolas to go on ahead.

When the prince was out of hearing, Galion asked, "Have you told him yet?"

Thranduil looked down. "No. I have not."

"But you must! And soon! You fade faster with each coming day."

The king sighed. "I know."

Both were silent before Thranduil spoke again, "I will go tell him now."

He walked off, leaving the butler to stare.

Thranduil found his son in the armory, putting away the blade.

"Legolas," he said, "I need to tell you something."

Legolas looked up expectantly. "Yes, Ada?"

For a moment the king struggled for words. "Ion-nin, I-"

He was cut off by cries from the halls. Two guards rushed in.

"My lord! The creature Gollum has escaped!"

"Orcs have attacked!"

Both king and prince jumped to action. Thranduil called out orders, sending Legolas to head a search party for Gollum and sending soldiers to fight the orcs while calling for his armor.

* * *

It was hours later when Elves came back, tired and wounded. While healer scurried about, aiding those in need, the captains reported to King Thranduil. Thranduil took stock of the situation, while trying to brush off a healer in the process. Often, he cast a glance around in search for his son.

Yet it late at night before the young Elf returned with the patrol. The Elves were downcast, for they were not able to catch the wretched creature. They had tracked him as far as some nearby spider's nests. The wicked beasts were active that night, and the small patrol wasn't able to battle them.

"Prince Legolas!" Galion's voice called.

Legolas came over to the butler. "Yes, Galion?"

Your Father has requested that you were brought to him once you arrived."

This concerned the prince. "Where is Ada? Is he well?"

"He will be fine. Come."

The butler led him to the healing houses of Mirkwood. In one of the rooms, Thranduil was sitting on a bed with his tunic removed. The healer tending him was currently bandaging a shallow arrow wound. A scar, from a spider bite centuries before, on his shoulder seemed slightly inflamed.

"Ada," Legolas said, alarmed.

Thranduil smiled. "I am fine, ion-nin."

The healer snorted lightly under her breath.

"Relcah doesn't think so!" said Legolas.

"Aye, healers never do."

Relcah, in the most un-elf like fashion, rolled her eyes.

"Did you find Gollum?" Thranduil queried.

"Nay, the little brute got away. What are we to do now? Mithrandir told us to watch him carefully."

"I know." Thranduil sighed. "You are weary, go and rest."

Legolas nodded, gave him one more worried look, then left.

Thranduil closed his eyes in thought for a moment.

Galion and Relcah waited, unsure of what to do. A minute passed. Then two.

"Imladris," the king said, breaking the silence. "Elrond will know what to do."

Galion nodded. "I will fetch you paper and ink."

"No." Thranduil stopped him, opening his eyes. "I'll send Legolas. It would do him good to get away from Mirkwood a bit."

"Yes, my lord," Galion responded.

"Will you tell him before he leaves?" Relcah asked.

"No. He has enough to worry about."

"You must tell him soon," she pressed. "It is no longer a scar. It is becoming a wound."

Thranduil sighed. "I know, Relcah. I know."

**Before I forget, thanks for your reviews, it means a lot! -Jimmy Candlestick**


	3. Ch3 A Conversation Had

Maglor looked at the sun

Maglor looked at the sun. It would soon be midday. Ahead, a glade of trees could be seen, offering relief from the hot sun. He urged the horse on faster once he caught sight of a pool of water. There, both he and the animals could drink their fill, and he could replenish the water in his water skins.

With a grateful sigh, Maglor dismounted and began to remove the tack from the horse. While unbuckling the saddle, he glanced about, hoping to find some sign of his falcon. The bird had flown off some time ago and had not returned.

"Where in all of Arda has the bird gone too?" he wondered aloud.

'_He told me that he was going to scout ahead,' _a voice said out of no where.

Maglor drew his sword as he searched for the source. "Who said that? Show yourself!"

'_I did, and I haven't hidden myself,' _it said again.

Maglor spun around. Facing his horse, he asked, "Was that you?"

Looking him in the eye, it responded, _'No, it was the blade of grass you're stepping on.'_

Maglor laughed. "Either I am going mad, or Ilúvatar gave me the gift of communing with animals."

'_You are not mad, and you can only communicate with us. By the way, I'm Yhtomit. The birds name is Willop.'_

Maglor frowned slightly. _'Odd names."_

Yhtomit just looked at him. _'We also think that of you.'_

Again, the Elf laughed. _'Well, at least I have amusing companions. But why have I not discovered this before?'_

'_You never spoke out loud.'_

'_What do you mean? I've spoken aloud many times, not to mention singing.'_

'_But you never asked a question that you wanted the answer for, until now.'_

Turning away, Maglor shook his head. For an Elf that had lived for three ages, he was constantly surprised at how stupid he could be. He sat down to eat what he had rationed for himself and looked at the map. Thankfully, the map was quite detailed, and the food was delicious. They had been traveling for a month now, making good time and, according to the map, they were seventy miles away from a little town called Bree.

Maglor was about to ask Yhtomit a question, when a gray and brown bird dived down, only to swoop right back up with a wriggling grayling. As it began eating the fish on the bank, Maglor greeted the bird.

'_Welcome back, Willop.'_

Willop looked up._ 'Did Yhtomit tell you?' _ the falcon asked.

'_Aye, he did. Tell me, what do you know about Bree?'_

'_Not too much. However, I was just there. It's small, fairly quiet, except for a trouble maker named Bill Ferny. There's an inn, the Prancing Pony. It's quite popular.'_

'_Then we shall stay there.'_

Yhtomit stopped his grazing for a moment to ask, _'What of the stable conditions?'_

'_Oh,' _Willop began, _'I wouldn't worry about that. They're rather nice, and you'll be taken care of by a hobbit.'_

Maglor looked up. _'A hobbit? Then you most surely shouldn't be worried, Yhtomit. If a Halfling is taking care of you, then you are in good hands.'_

The horse considered this for a minute then went back to grazing.

Willop looked at Maglor rather curiously. _'I say! You seem to take everything in stride.'_

Maglor laughed. _'I'm afraid I must disagree with you, Willop. Not everything.'_

Willop cocked his head. _'Not everything, eh? Then what do you not take in stride? I should rather think that and Elf your age should have perfected doing that some time ago.'_

The Elf was silent a moment before replying, _'Nay, Willop. Some things one can never get over. Not the loss of a family. My father was slayed by a Balrog, trying to retrieve jewels that he created. Jewels that destroyed many people's lives. We made an oath to retrieve those, and all of my brothers have died because of the accursed vow. We did get those jewels. Well, two of them. The one in my bag, and another, in the earth's abyss, my last brother with it.'_ Bitterness coated these words as he spoke them, hatred stirred a fire in his eyes. Then he laughed sadly. _'Then there are those two Elflings. I shall never get over the time we spent together and the departing.'_

Suddenly he stood, _'Come, we should cover more ground before camping for the night. Tomorrow, we shall make the rest of the journey to Bree.'_


	4. Ch4 A Rescue Made

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Okay, here's the next chappie...I've got a surprise for you!! And we've got some action...finally.

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Aragorn watched the stranger closely. He was similarly dressed as the ranger with a weather-stained cloak, muddy boots, and even a hood drawn over his head. Under the soil, he could make out that the clothes were originally black. The stranger was also clean-shaven, young to look at, from what he could see, and insisted on keeping his weapons on hand, not to mention the falcon perched on his shoulder.

The sword that the stranger carried was an interesting object, though not because the blade was of a strange curve, nor because of a curious design on the scabbard. Indeed, the sword looked like any other- long, slim, and two handed. No, what made it so queer was the cross guard. It began at a slight angle, one side at a sharper angle upward, the outward side being sharp.

Aragorn noted that the stranger's bow was crafted from a very dark wood and had strange markings in it that he could not discern. It was a version of a long bow, a foot or two shorter than standard height, but definitely longer than the one he himself carried. The arrows had a curious array of fletching, as most of them were gray, some black, and a few white. The whole array of the stranger vaguely reminded Aragorn of Elves.

A noisy quarrel distracted Aragorn from his observations. Bill Ferny was drunk and now boasting that he had found a way to collect snake venom. Even after he produced a jar that supposedly contained it, someone still denied the fact. Finally, in his drunken state Ferny drew his own sword, a somewhat rusted blade of unknown origin, and poured the liquid onto the blade, daring the doubter to fight him about it.

Aragorn looked at Barliman Butterbur. The poor innkeeper was getting quite flustered, not at all sure of what to do, and everyone looked terrified. Except for the stranger, Aragorn noted. As a matter of fact, he looked curious.

Rolling his eyes, Aragorn got up. Someone had to take care of the situation.

"Ferny!" he called. "Put the sword away. I believe you have everyone convinced."

"Back off, Ranger!" the drunkard spat. "Or I'll stick you wid me shword." He hiccupped after the last slurred word.

Aragorn took a step forward, confident he could disarm Bill Ferny without drawing a weapon of his own. He was wrong.

Ferny swung without actually aiming. Aragorn saw the blade coming and dropped down, out of the way of the hazardly swung weapon. He took another step forward. Ferny, a bit cross eyed, growled as he swung again, this time harder. Aragorn ducked and threw a small stool at Ferny, hoping to deter the man. With a thud, the blade sank into a nearby table, spilling half-full tankards of ale. Now the man was thoroughly enraged.

Aragorn grabbed a nearby chair, throwing it up in time for Ferny's next swing. Unfortunately, in his drunken rage Ferny swung so hard he chopped the chair in half. Aragorn threw the halves away and turned away in search for another one. A mistake he regretted immediately.

Ferny swung again at the ranger's back. He hit. Aragorn arched his back in agony as the weak, but deep cutting swing hit his back. It took him seconds to realize that Ferny wasn't lying about the snake venom. He could feel it spread throughout his body.

He twisted around as Ferny started to swing again. He tried to reach for a new chair, but his strength was failing him. His arms felt like lead and he couldn't move them fast enough. He looked up as the blade began it's downward descent. A slight panic came over him when a flash of grayish-brown came out of no where, screeching as it grabbed Ferny's arm. Though his vision was blurring, Aragorn could just make out the falcon burying it's talons in Ferny, causing him to shriek in pain. Turning his head, Aragorn saw the stranger calmly walk over with a drawn sword and disarm Ferny while rendering him unconscious. While his world began to go black, Aragorn dimly felt the stranger catching him as hen called out orders.

* * *

Maglor, for he was the stranger, had been watching the scene with quiet curiosity. He could not decide if the tall bearded man was idiotic, insane, or brave. He would've helped, but the man seemed confident and this other man, Ferny, was drunk. After the first swing, he considered helping again. After the second, he arose, seeing that the thrown stool did nothing to help the tall one. After the third swing, he drew his sword, seeing that the tall man was not going to win this battle. After the fourth, he signaled his falcon and went to the tall one's aid. He quickened his pace as the sword made contact with flesh.

That sound…all too familiar, it sent his mind back to his days of kin-slaying. When he was bound by an accursed oath to retrieve a jewel at all costs. Anger coursed through his veins as he covered the few feet that separated him and the drunk with a small bound. He swung the other blade away with his own as it fell from Ferny's grasp. Swinging viciously down, Maglor hit Ferny with his hilt, knocking the drunk out. With amazing speed he sheathed his sword and caught the wounded man.

Immediately, he began to issue out orders. "Innkeeper! Show me a room! You! Nob! Fetch my saddle bag! You three! Remove that man!"

To everyone's astonishment, Maglor picked the ranger up easily and carried him to the stairs after Barliman.

"Here you are," Butterbur said, opening the door.

"Thank you. Now, fetch me some water; I'll need it heated," Maglor said, laying Strider on the bed.

Butterbur nodded and hurried off to get it. The stranger had a clear, strong voice, full of authority and was hard _not _to obey.

While Maglor was removing Strider's tunic, the falcon flew in. He glanced up to see the bird dip its head, as a pattering of feet indicated Nob's return.

"Here you are, sir!" Cried the hobbit. He cast a worried glance at Strider. "Will he survive?"

"I will not know for sure for some time yet," Maglor answered as he rummaged through the bag. He looked at Nob, his curious eyes peeking out from under the hood. "Are you good friends with him?"

Maglor's kind voice let Nob to open up. "With Strider? No, sir! But I'd like to be. He is kind and doesn't treat me like dirt like some people do. But, he's a ranger from the north, and they're a bit strange." He blushed. "Plus, nothin's ever happened like this in Bree before."

Maglor went back to work as Butterbur came through the door with a big steaming pot of water. He placed it over the fire to keep it warm. "There you are, sir! Anything else I can do to help?"

"Aye, one more thing: I need clean cloths to use as bandages. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir, I can. I'll get you the cloths. Nob! Go carry on with your other chores!"

A short time later, the innkeeper came back with them, then left. As soon as the door shut, Maglor cast off his cloak so he could work more freely.

With experienced hands, he made a poultice by moistening the herb, Ribwort, with warm water, chopping it up, and applying it the wound. Sighing, the Elf sat back and waited for the man to wake up.

* * *

_He did not know why his head hurt. Or why his dreams were dark and vague. His back burned with an incessant fire. Why could he not open his eyes? Why was the air so heavy? Heavy and hot, uncomfortable and loathsome. He couldn't escape it. Go away, he wanted to cry out. But his lips would not obey his mind. He could not form words, though he tried._

_The pounding in his head increased, the fire became more intense. Though he tried to figure out what happened, his thoughts were muddled. Nothing made sense, he thought he might die. Faces floated before his eyes. Familiar faces, his mother, Lord Elrond, Arwen, the twins, his fellow rangers. He called for help, but they would not respond._

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Maglor leaned forward, placing comforting hands on this man's shoulders. He carefully turned Strider over on his back, letting the man lean against him. He poured water from a nearby pitcher into a cup and brought it to the man's lips.

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_Relief. Something cool and smooth seemed to pass through his mouth and go down his throat. What was this? It tasted like heaven. He suddenly felt as if he could live off of this one sweet liquid thing that brought comfort to his parched mouth. More, he wanted more. He tried to shift in some way, but all that did was bring a fresh attack of pain to his already tortured back._

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Maglor felt Strider tense before crying out in pain. He gave him one more drink before turning Strider to lay on his stomach once more. The poor man's face was covered in a cold sweat and contorted in pain. He was shivering. Then he stopped. One moment he was making feeble efforts to pull the blanket closer, the next, he was pushing it off.

Maglor murmured softly while applying more herbs to the wound, trying to comfort him in some way. He pulled the covers up again to keep the man warm. He cursed the Edain for making such vial concoctions that made them so drunken so easily. He cursed Ferny for coming up with a way to gather up snake's venom.

* * *

_He started to see more images go before him. Some comforting, some made to be feared. He began to have nightmares, vision's of death and destruction. He began to see scenes of death coming to his friends. He tried to go and help them, but he couldn't. He tried to move his legs, to go to them, but all this was denied of him. Why?_

_Then, he was in situations in which he needed the help. He called for help, but none came. He saw help, but it ignored him. He cried out in anger. He cried out in desperation. He cried out in helplessness. Would no one come to aid him? To comfort him? To bring him out of this dark abyss?_

* * *

At the desperate murmurs from Strider, Maglor looked up from doze. The man was dreaming. Dreaming dreams that were of darkness and not light. The Elf recognized this. And he began to sing. Softly, he didn't dare sing too loudly. At first, he sang without lyrics. Then he began to sing old lullabies. Lullabies that always brought comfort to his own brothers when they had nightmares. Lullabies telling them that Ilúvatar was watching over them, that there was nothing to fear.

Slowly, the disturbed murmurings of the man ceased and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

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_He perceived a light in this darkness. A light that brought comfort. A light to allay his fears. This light was a beautiful voice. A voice telling him that he was safe. For Ilúvatar was watching._

* * *

Maglor settled back, still singing the nighttime songs. Tears welled up in his eyes unbidden. Ilúvatar. All of the sudden, he gathered thoughts of bitterness and comfort from these songs. Ilúvatar. Where was he when his brothers died, one by one?

But, Ilúvatar brought him comfort. To this man. And to Maglor. How could this happen? He sat back. Thoughts wandered through his mind, trying to sort things out as he sang to this one whom they called Strider.

* * *

Aragorn blinked slowly. At first, everything was blurry, but things soon came into focus. Frowning, he tried to figure out why his head was pressed to the pillow and where he was.

"I see you're awake. Good." He looked over to see the stranger sitting next to him.

The stranger had his hood drawn and the falcon perched on his shoulder.

Aragorn posed a question. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"A whole day. You're still in the Prancing Pony." The answer came in the stranger's thick accent, one both foreign and familiar at the same time.

Aragorn nodded, as a pain in his back reminded him of what happened. "What happened to Ferny?"

"The drunkard? They took him out. I actually have his sword. I had the innkeeper fetch it for me," the stranger answered, pointing to the corner.

Aragorn blinked slowly, feeling sleep come upon him again. He was about to drop off when the stranger felt need to say something.

"Barliman told me that you were called Strider. He was rather surprised when I inquired after you, commenting that he thought I was one of your kind. Because we are supposedly of the same kind, I wouldn't mind knowing your name and 'kind'."

Aragorn regarded the stranger for a moment, contemplating what he should do. The stranger stared right back, allowing him his moment of contemplation.

Finally, Aragorn answered, "You may also call me Strider. My 'kind' would be a Ranger of the north."

"I see. I would like to know of what lineage you are, though."

"And why is that?" Aragorn asked, trying to figure the stranger out. Something about him still reminded Aragorn of Elves, but the accent was odd. It wasn't terribly heavy but it was definitely noticeable.

Shifting, the stranger was silent for a moment before replying. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

Instead of answering, the stranger changed subjects. "Let's take another look at your back."

He pulled the blanket lower and raised Aragorn's tunic.

"The hobbit, Nob, brought me your pack. I took the liberty of rummaging through it to replace the other tunic," he said.

Aragorn answered with a grunt. He was falling to sleep. It wasn't hard, for the stranger had gentle hands and was obviously skilled in healing.

This made the ranger mumble, "If I didn't know better, I would've thought you were Lord Elrond."

The hands stopped their work. "Elrond? Elrond half-elven?"

"Aye."

"Lord? Of what?" The hands began their work again.

"Rivendell, the Last Homely House. A safe haven for weary travelers and a peaceful place to heal," Aragorn said, too tired to talk much.

The last thing he heard before dropping off was the stranger quietly chuckling to himself and softly saying something in a strange tongue.

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**Review?**


	5. Ch5 A Stranger Named

**Heeeeeyy...well, this was supposed to happen before the next chapter...you know, the one i posted and ya'll were kind enough to review? Yeah. That one. Well, here is the correct chapter. **

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The sun streamed through the window, bathing his face with its warmth. He sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into the beds comfort. For a moment, he thought he was back in Rivendell. Someone singing only added to the effect. But only for a moment.

Aragorn opened his eyes. This room was too human for Rivendell and the voice was too near for someone passing by his room. Not to mention that lack of lyrics. All songs sung in Rivendell had words, many telling a story. This song could have been a story. The melody was of a melancholy sound. Though, it contained much more sorrow than any song he had heard in Rivendell.

Raising himself, Aragorn twisted slightly to see the face of the singer. Once he saw the stranger stroking his falcon, he remembered the events of the other day and where he was. What surprised him, however, was that the pain in his back was almost non-existent.

The stranger was the singer, not seeming to care that he was practically singing to all of Bree, with him facing the open window. Indeed, if either Aragorn or the stranger looked out below, they would've seen a group of five or six small children, three housewives with their laundry, a baker making deliveries, Bob the stable boy, and a dog looking up at the window. They stared as if under a spell, wondering who the singer was. Even in other rooms, people stopped what they were doing to listen. They were all quite simple folk and though some were rather good with music themselves, they hadn't imagined music to be so lovely.

The falcon's eyes were closing as the song came to an end. For just a minute, everything was perfectly still and quiet. Then, Aragorn heard the villagers continue with their lives. He turned and sat up as quietly as possible. With a little smile he acknowledged the fact that the bed creaked with a creak that only creaked when someone moved when asleep.

The stranger breathed deeply. "Smells like it will soon rain."

Aragorn's eyes roved around the room, unsure of whom the stranger was addressing.

"Yes, Strider, I know you're awake." The stranger stood up to close the window. "You've been so for five minutes."

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow. "Either you have keen hearing, or you are able to communicate with that falcon."

The stranger laughed. "Maybe. Tell me more of this Rivendell and the Lord Elrond."

Aragorn sat back and resisted the urge to close his eyes in frustration. He was hoping that was his imagination, but he had indeed actually said it.

Instead he asked, "Why? You have not even told me your name or where you are from. The only think I know about you is that you're a skilled healer, you own a falcon, and you sound much like an Elf when singing."

The stranger was quiet for a moment. With a slight nod he replied, "Well said. I'll take the singing comment as a compliment. My falcon's name is Willop and I also have a horse named Yhtomit. I normally wander the sea shores, but business has called me inland. As for my name, you may call me Roglam."

"Business? What sort of business?"

"I am to go to Gondor."

"For what purpose?"

Again, Roglam was silent. The he chuckled. "You are full of questions. You remind me of a child. The purpose is of no concern to you."

Aragorn snorted. "Fine. But that won't give you any information about Rivendell or Lord Elrond."

Roglam laughed.

It had been a few hours since that conversation. Now Aragorn was back in the common room, watching more strangers. This time, they were four hobbits. At the moment, they were mingling with the Bree hobbits, most of who were set on how one of the visiting Halflings was related to them. He went by the name of 'Underhill,' and apparently, there were several Underhills in Bree.

Aragorn settled back taking another puff of his pipe. He had taken it out earlier after Roglam announced him fit to move around. He smiled at the memory of the stranger's disgust. He couldn't believe that the ranger could stand pipeweed. Most of the men Aragorn knew, or knew of, did it. So it was a slight surprise that Roglam abhorred it. That man was a mystery. After that episode, Aragorn was almost convinced he was at least a half-elven.

One of the Shire hobbits, the one called Underhill, was making his way toward Aragorn. He pushed Roglam to the back of his mind. That mystery would have to be solved later.

**Um...yeah. Well? What did you think? I know, I should've posted when I was supposed to. No idea why I didn't. -Jimmy**


	6. Ch6 A Battle Fought

**Ah, the next installment. Okay, after this, I'm not quite sure when the next update will be. This is because I have another story that desperately needs to be finished. Sorry.**

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Yhtomit broke into a canter as the rain began to fall. Willop flew above, but Maglor guessed that the bird would probably come down as the rain drenched its feathers.

It was supposed to be noon, but the heavy clouds made it seem much later. It had been about a half-hour since they left Bree, and up ahead was a wood which they reached in a few minutes. Willop had flown to take shelter under the trees and was shaking the water off of him as they entered. Maglor halted to let the falcon come down and take shelter under his cloak. Though the trees gave them some relief from the rain, it didn't keep it from coming.

When Willop had settled, Maglor went ahead and urged Yhtomit into a canter. _'I'd like to get through as fast as possible,'_ he told them._ 'Enough time has been spent already helping Strider.'_

Though Maglor had taken after his mother more in character than his father and helping a perfect stranger was more natural to him than to his brothers, he was never one to take his time. And though he was only too glad to help Strider in his need, he felt as if he needed to make up the lost time.

But time was not the only reason Maglor was willing to leave Strider so quickly. Strider's eyes had much to do with it as well, as they reminded him so much of Elros. The Elf knew that Elrond and Elros had a choice between being mortal and immortal, but he did not know what they had chosen. According to Strider's words, Elrond seemed to have chosen an immortal life. But Strider had said nothing of Elros. And this made Maglor wonder.

'_Maglor?'_ a voice cut into his thoughts. It was Willop.

'_Aye, Willop?'_ he answered.

'_Is something bothering you?'_

Maglor looked down o see the falcon peeping out from under his cloak. He managed a slight smile.

'_Nay, Willop. I'm just thinking.'_

'_Aye,' _Yhtomit cut in, _'thinking rather hard._

Maglor just smiled sadly.

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They traveled through Chestwood in less than two days. When they hit the marshes, they were forced to walk through.

'_Ach! I can barely stand these creatures!' _Yhtomit neighed. The midges and flies attacked him from every side and he couldn't do much about it.

Maglor had wrapped himself up in his cloak, but that only helped some. _'Aye. But be thankful you do not only have two legs. It would be slower going.' _

Yhtomit just snorted.

High above, Willop soared. Since it wasn't raining, the bird was able to take its customary position in the sky. Fortunately for him, the midges and flies preferred to stay closer to the ground.

Maglor chanced a look upwards, musing aloud, "Night will be here soon."

'_I know,' _Yhtomit replied. _'Which is why I'm picking up the pace, I refuse to stay a night here.'_

With that, the horse began a slow trot. At that rate, they were out of the marshes by midnight. They traveled a little further before finding an area sheltered enough to make camp.

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They were well into the fourth day when Maglor, whose hood was thrown back, spotted a hill that was topped with what seemed to be the remnants of a great tower. Maglor gazed at it long with curiosity. Yhtomit slowed to a walk, but the Elf didn't seem to notice.

"What is that, I wonder," he murmured aloud.

Willop dived down to perch on his shoulder. _'I believe it to be an old tower.'_

Maglor did his best to eye the bird without knocking it off. _'I figured that much out already.'_

If a bird could sniff disdainfully, Willop would most certainly have done so. _'I was only trying to help. There is an old man ahead of us. He seems to be heading for the tower.'_

The Elf and his companions were no more than a few hundred yards from the foot of the hill when a great cry rang out and flashes of light brightened the sky in an unnatural hue. Though the horse was uneasy, Maglor managed to urge Yhtomit into a choppy trot. Willop took off and was gone for a minute before he cam soaring back.

'_It's the old man! He's battling nine men, cloaked in black robes!'_ The falcon urgently reported.

Yhtomit began, _'Does that mean-'_

"Forward!" Maglor shouted.

Though he hated to, Yhtomit galloped up the hill. The horse's hooves pounded the earth, kicking up clods of dirt as he neared the old tower. Though heaving with exertion and focusing on his goal, Yhtomit could feel a change come over his rider. Maglor was normally gentle, but Yhtomit felt him tense with excitement. A scraping sound indicated a sword being unsheathed. The weight shifted, as a leg was being pulled up.

As soon as they entered the ruins, Maglor pulled his hood back up and leapt off of Yhtomit into the fray of battle. The old man, who was creating the flashes of light, paused momentarily before accepting the fact that aid had arrived. Yhtomit and Willop, however, paused. All they could do was look on.

With his leap, Maglor had almost landed on top of one of the cloaked men. Though it was a jump that would've thrown most people off balance, Maglor executed it with ease. Landing, he wasted no time in engaging two of the cloaked men in battle. It was clear to see that the Elf's opponents were taken by surprise, but they quickly recovered.

Maglor had begun swinging at one's torso but was blocked. The block was more accident than intention, and after it happened, the cloaked one swung back. The other one attacked at the same time. Seeing both swords come toward him, Maglor knew he didn't have enough time to parry both blades. The Elf ducked down, rocked on his feet sideways and pushed up to place himself beside them. Swinging his sword up, Maglor turned again to bring it down on his enemy's arm. The cloaked one was pulling his arm back when the blade struck. The screech that emitted from the hood was incredible.

As Maglor hit the forearm, he looked up as the hood turned toward him. The Elf was shocked to see no face to be shadowed by the good that was supposed to cover a head. A head that didn't exist, a fact confirmed when another flash came from the old man. When the creature's amputated hand fell bloodless to the ground, Maglor was aware of a cold, numb pain racing up his arms. It did not take long for him to figure out that these black-garbed figures were either no longer men or some dark demon.

Fighting the weakness starting to overcome him and struggling to keep use of his arms, Maglor attacked the next one. As their blades met again and again, Maglor saw spots dance before his eyes. He shook it off in time to dodge a blow meant to kill, and knew that unless a miracle happened, this would be his last fight.

'_Ilúvatar,' _he prayed desperately. _'Help me! Give me strength!'_

He wasn't exactly expecting anything, but suddenly, warmth spread through his limbs, and his energy was renewed. Suddenly, it was he who was adavancing, not his enemy. With stroke the enemy was stepping back. Maglor thrust forward, fully intending to run the cloaked creature through. As he did, he uttered the Fëanorian war cry, a cry that was once respected and feared by all. His blade shimmered with a strange bright light, making his enemy scream in pain as it lit. With sudden swiftness, the creature swung out of the way, causing Maglor to stab its shoulder.

Again, pain lanced up his shoulder, and again, blackness threatened to overtake him. This time, the pain was too unbearable, and he fell to his knees. He looked up to see the enemy get ready for the killing strike. Maglor gazed at the raised sword with apathetic eyes. Suddenly, he didn't care if he lived or died. The rest of his family was dead. He could join them.

His eyes drifted to his bag that was carelessly thrown on the ground-a bag that carried a very precious jewel. A stone that, for a reason unknown to him, had to get to Gondor. A task appointed to him by Ilúvatar Himself. And he was thinking of letting himself die.

With another quick prayer, Maglor called on all of his reserves of strength. Gripping the hilt tighter, he swung it up, blocking the other sword. At the harsh clang, the creature seemed to pause for a moment. It withdrew its sword as the Elf struggled to stand.

Maglor took a brief stance before charging, once again. Their blades met. Maglor's eyes were cold as ice and lit with an inner fire, watching his opponent's every move. Both of them seemed to almost dance as they fought, twisting out of the other's reach. Maglor's cloak swirled around him and the creature's dark robes swayed and danced with their its moves. Neither one let the other have the upper hand. Neither one let the old man's blinding flashes faze them.

Tiring, Maglor suddenly dropped, balancing on one hand for a split second and kicking as hard as he could. The creature screamed as it fell backwards into a previously unnotieced fire. Its robes aflame, it fled from the area. Gasping for breath, Maglor turned toward the remaining seven. They had encircled the old man who was wielding a sword as well as a staff.

He staggered to them, holding a fire brand in each hand. That last creature's terror of fire had given him an idea. Apporaching the creatures from behind, he reached the first one and touched it with his torch, doing the same to the one next to it. The old man caught sight of this and resisted the urge to chuckle. The black ones were in for a nasty surprise.

Their cloaks caught fire rather fast, causing them to scream. Maglor staggered back a few steps at the sound. It was like two terrified women screaming at a very high pitch, and it hurt his ears terribly. They also fled from the hilltop, the others soon following as the old man dealt with them.

Seeing them retreat, Maglor stumbled to the bag. Reaching in, he made brief contact with the contents, relieved to feel them all there. Quickly, he pulled the strap over his shoulder, strangely feeling slightly more revived though not completely better. The world did seem less dark than before. He was trying to stand when something nuzzled him.

'_Need some help?'_ Yhtomit asked rather shakily.

Maglor smiled as he gratefully grabbed the halter to pull himself back up.

Surprisingly, he could actually walk a little better than before. With slightly more confident steps, he walked toward the fire. Picking up his sword, he re-wrapped the black leather around the hilt, for it had come slightly un-done. As he sheathed it, a wave of dizziness hit him.

Again, he fell to his knees, breathing deeply in an effort to clear his head. Stamping noises sounded beside him as the warmth of the fire suddenly stopped. He was about to open his eyes in order to investigate, when he was roughly pulled to his feet.

"Come!" the old man said, for it was he who pulled Maglor up. "We must get you to Lord Elrond."

Maglor opened his eyes. He was being led to the most beautiful white stallion, supported by the old man. For his age, he was surprisingly strong. With help, Maglor mounted the noble steed.

"But…my own," he said, feebly pointing to Yhtomit.

"No," the man responded whilst mounting behind him. "Shadowfax will get us to Rivendell much faster."

Maglor could only lean onto the old man for support, half-conscience, as they sped from the hill.

**Wasn't that fun? Well, sorry i had to leave you with a semi-cliffy. Or is it completely a cliffy? Anywho, I'll try to finish that other story quickly. Please review. If it's a flame, I accept. If it's got critique, I whole-heartedly accept it. And, if it's just praise, well, I don't need to tell you how much I love that. :)-Jimmy**


	7. Ch7 A Secret Guarded

**Sorry it took me so long, it shouldn't any more...I don't think. Anywho, here ya go.**

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Gandalf urged Shadowfax on. "Race the wind, my friend!"

Beneath him the horse lengthened his stride, going faster with each one. Though he was carrying two riders, it did not seem to burden Shadowfax more than one.

Gandalf struggled slightly, trying to keep his seat and hold the stranger at the same time. He wasn't completely unconscious yet, which puzzled Gandalf. The man had just battled four Black Riders, two of which he had actually wounded. Most men, and Elves for that matter, went into a battle with just one and died. Yet, he was still alive. However, Gandalf believed him to be fading. The fool of a man!

"So," Gandalf began. "How is it that you were foolish enough to take on Nazgûl? Do not tell me you have not heard of them."

The stranger managed a small laugh, and Gandalf had to strain to hear his weak voice. "I'm afraid I do not know if them. I don't suppose you could tell me just how it was foolish of me?"

Gandalf became even more puzzled. "Not at the present time. But you must be of noble blood. Lesser men would have fled from such a scene. Who are you?"

The stranger stayed silent before giving an answer. "You may call me Roglam. Though you must be the only person to believe me to be of noble blood."

"Is that so? Tell me, who is your father? I would dearly love to know who could've sired someone fool enough to battle the servants of Sauron, for the sake of an old man."

The wizard could make out Roglam struggling for breath. "My father's name…is not really your concern. As for helping an old man…that comes from my mother. She taught me…to always help those in need'

Gandalf tried to get more information out of him, but Roglam refused to answer more questions, for he was too exhausted. In a few minutes, the wizard felt Roglam slump against him once more. Knowing the effects of stabbing one of the Nazgûl, Gandalf urged Shadowfax even faster.

Dawn's first light glimmered on the horizon as Gandalf neared the bridge. Already the wizard could hear the water swirling around its three great arches. Roglam stirred. He had fallen asleep sometime in the night. Gandalf tightened his grip as Shadowfax galloped across the bridge, hooves clacking against the stones. Right in the middle, Roglam murmured something that Gandalf couldn't quite make out. Grimly, he realized that this mysterious stranger was becoming delirious.

Soon they came upon troll country. Because of the rough and often dangerous terrain, they were forced to slow down. Shadowfax mostly kept to a walk, sometimes a careful trot was allowable, and for occasional blessed (so called by Gandalf) moments, the gallop was resumed.

A sudden loud whinny from Shadowfax announced a stretch of road he could gallop over. Gandalf looked at the sun. About three from his reckoning.

"Onward, Shadowfax! The day is waning!" he said.

Gandalf fervently thanked Ilúvatar for creating such a speedy creature, when Shadowfax arrived in Rivendell in twenty minutes. Elves came to meet him as he galloped up.

"Where is Lord Elrond?" Gandalf cried, dismounting.

"I will fetch him!" A voice called out, and Gandalf could see an Elf hurry off.

Willing hands reached up to help Roglam off the horse. As he was being lowered, Roglams' hood fell back. Both Elves and wizard gasped as ebony colored hair fell out and a beautiful face was revealed. There was a brief moment of silence as the shocked people took this in. Then the courtyard was filled with murmurings.

"An Elf!"

"Who could it he be?"

"He is so fair-one of the Noldor, perhaps?"

"Well, he isn't from Lorien, or Mirkwood for that matter."

"What is going on?" All of the talking ceased at the sound of Lord Elrond's query.

Elves quickly parted, making a path as the stately elf-lord came through. As soon as he reached where Roglam lay, Elrond seemed to pause for a moment. A brief emotion flitted across his face before he knelt down to examine the new Elf.

The examination did not take long. It was only a few seconds after Elrond knelt down when he was standing again. "Bring him to the Houses of Healing! Quickly!"

Within in minutes, Roglam was lying on a bed and Elrond was preparing the athelas. While the water was boiling, Elrond removed the strange Elf's weapons and cloak.

"What happened, Gandalf? I can see that the Black Shadow has fallen upon him," the elven-lord questioned.

"Nazgûl. I was waylaid at Weathertop by those foul creatures. I was battling all nine of them when this fool decided to aid me! One moment I was against all of them and the next moment, only seven are in front of me! He fought two-two of them-Elrond! Single-handedly, he defeated them! He chopped off one's forearm and stabbed the other in the shoulder! The first one fled almost immediately, but the second one didn't leave until he was pushed into a fire I had made," Gandalf related.

Elrond sighed as he bathed Roglam's brow with athelas infused water. "Nazgûl. Did he not know who they were?"

"That is what he told me, from the brief time I could question him."

"What is his name?" He told me 'twas Roglam. But now that I see him to be an Elf, I doubt it," Gandalf announced.

Elrond seemed to ignore this as he lay his hand on Roglam's head. The athelas' scent filled the air while Elrond murmured in the high tongue. Roglam's breathing became regular and the color came back to his gray face. Roglam began to stir, so Elrond leaned back.

A commotion was suddenly heard in the courtyard. Loud whinnies and the stamping of hooves could be heard.

Gandalf leaned forward saying quietly, "I shall investigate. Tell me if he says anything more when you are through."

Elrond nodded his acknowledgement as the wizard stalked through the door. With a sigh, Elrond grasped the limp hand, hoping to somehow awaken the other Elf.

Without warning, he felt another hand grab his neck and spin him around so he fell on the bed with the other Elf above him. The grip around his throat was tightening as he met the other's eyes.

"Maglor," Elrond managed to gasp out.

Above him, Maglor's eyes widened when he realized who he was attacking. "Elrond!"

Immediately his throat was released. Elrond closed his eyes, bringing a hand up. But before he could take another decent breath, he was being pulled into a fierce and crushing hug.

"Elfling, I'm sorry; I did not know it was you," Maglor said in rapid Quenya, using his old nickname for Elrond.

Elrond found himself laughing into Maglor's shoulder as he replied, "At least I know you will recover sufficiently!"

Maglor laughed as well, pulling away. He studied Elrond carefully, apparently not believing it was really him. "All these years I had been wondering what happened to you and your brother."

Elrond's smile faded. "Maglor…Elros isn't here."

The older Elf stopped smiling also and looked away. "He chose mortality, didn't he?"

"Aye. He became the first king of the Númenor. His descendants are blessed with long life," Elrond said.

Maglor got up from the bed and walked onto the balcony. A wave of weakness hit him as he leaned against the railing for support. Elros! He had seen it in the perehil's eyes that he would chose to be mortal, bu Maglor had always pushed the thought away. A hand touched his shoulder.

"_Tula_, you are still weary." Elrond led Maglor back inside.

Maglor was sitting on the bed once more when a though occurred to him. "Elrond! Where is the bag I had?"

Elrond took a quick glance around the room, before settling his gaze on the desired object. He picked it up and handed it to Maglor. "Here. What is in it?"

Maglor opened it and paused. He looked back at Elrond, and silence reigned for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Elrond, what I have is the sole purpose for coming inland-"

"Inland? Where have you been?"

Maglor took a deep breath. "After we left you within Gil-galad's borders, Maedhros and I stole the remaining two silmarils from his camp. Doubtless you are already aware of this, and the events leading up to it, but what you may not know is what became of us."

Maglor paused and looked at Elrond. The elven-lord had sat down and nodded for Maglor to continue.

"We fled from the camp and did not stop until we came to the sea. By then, the silmarils were burning our hands, and we were nearly driven mad." Here Maglor gave a short, bitter laugh. "Well,_ I_ was nearly driven mad. The accursed jew in Maedhros' possession seemed to have done something. He threw himself into a chasm as soon as he came upon it." Maglor paused, evidentally trying to get his emotions under control.

Elrond put a comforting arm around Maglor's shoulders. "Maglor-" he began, but he could think of nothing to say.

Silent tears ran down Maglor's face as he remembered that dreadful moment. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I threw the one I had into the sea. I have wandered the shores ever since. But a little over a month ago, I was visiting that very chasm when Ulmo rose up from the sea, bearing the silmaril."

He glanced over at Elrond, who had a look of disbelief. He couldn't help but smile. "Let me guess-there is no possible way I could know a Vala."

Elrond blushed slightly. "Well, no one has spoken with any of the Valar since the battle against Morgoth!"

Maglor chuckled. "Aye, but that is because they all stay in the undying lands except Ulmo. He, being the Lord of the Waters, rarely parts from his dominion. He's kept me from madness by keeping me company from time to time. But we are wandering from the story. He told me that Iluvitar has appointed me to take this Silmaril to Gondor."

"To do what with it?"

Maglor sighed. "That I do not know. The light has been renewed, apparently with some of Iluvitar's own light. I was also reminded that the original light could restore the light in the trees. If my mind wasn't muddled, I could probably figure out what that means."

"You must rest anyway. Even an Elf like you cannot recover fromt the Black Shadow so quickly."

Maglor leaned back, chuckling. "I must say, Elfling, you make a fine healer." Then he added, mostly to himself, "Just like that Strider hinted."

Elrond looked at him sharply. "Strider?"

Maglor took a drink from the cut Elrond handed him and grimaced. "You gave me a sleeping potion. Aye, I met a man called Strider in Bree. The fool had taken on a drunk with a poisened blade. Earned a beautiful slash across his back for his," Maglor paused, searching for the right words. "reckless bravery."

This alarmed Elrond. "Is he alright?"

Maglor sighed sleepily. "Aye. He healed quite nicely."

The older Elf closed his eyes and after a few minutes, Elrond thought he had fallen asleep. Elrond was about to leave when a hand stayed his arm. He turned to face an earnest looking Maglor.

"Elrond, I need a favor of you."

Slightly puzzled, Elrond sat down. "Of course. Anything, Maglor."

"I need you to keep my identity and quest a secret."

Elrond blinked in surprise. "Well, all right. I suppose I can do that. But why?"

For a moment, Maglor seemed to struggle for words. "Just do it. For me."

Elrond nodded.

Maglor smiled and relaxed, mumbling something Elrond couldn't quite make out. Within minutes, the drug the elven-lord ahd administered took the rewquired effect, and Maglor was sleeping soundly. Elrond waited a few minutes before leaving.

Outside, Elrond made his way to his study, his mind wandering. What was the silmaril to be used for? Why was Maglor chosen for this task? And why did he want it to be kept secret? In all his years on Middle Earth, Elrond had learned that the truth was the best course to take. However, he respected Maglor, and therefore respected Maglor's wishes. In all honesty, he felt that this was a way to repay the older Elf.

Some of Elrond's earliest memories were of his days with Maglor. It was Maglor who cared for him and Elros in their early years, taught him the art of healing, and together with Maedhros, instructed him how to master the sword. Few in Arda could match the sons of Feanor in the skill of the blade.

"So, how is he?" Elrond nearly jumped at the sound of the wizard's voice.

"Gandalf! Forgive me, I was deep in thought. He awoke shortly after you left. He didn't tell me much more than he did you. His name is Roglam, and he is a traveler," Elrond said.

"Really? A traveling Elf, how strange. It's a wonder we haven't met before."

Elrond managed a chuckle. "Well then, it looks like you aren't the only one with a fondness for traveling unnoticed."

"Indeed," Gandalf replied, chuckling right back.

They continued walking in silence. Elrond, though calm on the outside, was bordering frantic as he thought of a way to belay suspicions of his lying. It was funny, actually, to remember that it was Maglor who instilled in him the virtue of truthfulness, and yet it was Maglor who needed him to lie.

"Gandalf," he said suddenly. "What was the commotion all about?"

"Ah. Well, it seems that our new friend Roglam rides a Mearas. Stranger still, he rides it with saddle and bridle," Gandalf answered.

"Now that is strange! An Elf who rides as a man, and a Mearas who accepts it. So that was the horse arriving."

"Yes."

More silence followed as they came to Elrond's study. They entered the room, Elrond sat at his desk and Gandalf in a chair opposite him.

It was Gandalf who spoke first. "Come, Elrond. We're friends. I know you're hiding something, so you may as well tell me."

For several minutes Elrond avoided Gandalf's eyes, and was silent. With a heavy sigh he met the wizard's gaze. "Roglam is Maglor."

To his great surprise, Gandalf started laughing.

He blinked. "You already knew?"

Calming himself, Gandalf said, "No, but I could guess. I've never actually seen any of the Feanorians' faces, but I've seen the way they weild a blade! They are unmatched. His accent gives away the fact that Quenya is his first language, and his looks indicate Noldor. But what made me especially suspicious was the look on your face when you first saw him. I doubt anyone else could see, but I saw it as a look of recognition."

Again, Elrond sighed. "_Ta thann_, I recognized him. I was shocked. After he leftl Elros and I in a strange land, I feared that I would never see him again. And when I was working in Gil-galad's court, I feared that I might see him as a prisoner or a corpse."

Gandalf smiled. "You really love him, don't you?"

"Of course, I love him! He practically raised us as his own. While everyone else haed him for the kinslayings, I defended him. He was bound to an oath. He was, in a way, my father."

"And even though you know of all his doings, you forgive him?":

"Yes. I know he hates what he has done. I can see it in his eyes."

Gandalf nodded. "Is that what he is here for? Forgiveness?"

Elrond looked uneasy. "Nay, he is on his way to Gondor." Elrond hesitated. "With a silmaril."

Now Gandalf's curiosity was piqued. "A silmaril? What for?"

"He doesn't know."

"That is interesting."

"It is," Elrond agreed."

Gandalf looked at his companion with scrutiny. "Elrond, you're neck is bruised."

Unconsciously, Elrond raised a hand to the spot. "It is? It must've happened when Maglor awoke."

Bushy eyebrows arose questionly.

With an uncharecteristic rueful smile, Elrond related the incident, something Gandalf found quite amusing. Elrond managed a quiet chuckle.

After the laughter subsided, Elrond said one last thing. "Gandalf, he does not want his identity or task revealed."

Gandalf nodded. "Well, I believe that can be done. No use shouting it out to the world or to here. Firstly, if Elves found out that it was Maglor Feanorian, he would be dead before the dawn. Secondly, if world got out about the Silmaril, we could have a whole new war on our hands."

* * *

_Tula-_Come

_Ta Thann-_That is true.


	8. Ch8 A Wound Hidden

**Here ya go, 'nother installment. Italics in my stories mean dreams, thoughts, or flashbacks; and in LOTR stories, elvish phrases.**

* * *

"_Belegorn! Maegorod! _Mas le_?" His voice echoed eerily among the trees._

_The young prince spun around, looking to and fro for his bodyguards, whom he considered friends. A dark shape passed beyond his peripheral vision, causing him to turn again. Swiftly, he drew his bow and notched an arrow. Moving stealthily, he carefully approached the area where he had seen the dark shape. It was actually a small clearing, in the middle of which a figure lay._

"_Maegorod!" The prince exclaimed under his breath._

_For a moment, he did not move, listening and watching for anything unusual. All was at peace, so he ran lightly to the fallen warrior. Maegorod's sword was still grasped tightly in his hand, green-yellow slime decorating its blade. The prince leaned close, listening for breathing. Faintly, he could hear the elf inhale. The prince began searching for unseen wounds; no blood was visible. His fair brow furrowed; no wounds could be seen at all. It seemed that nothing had penetrated the frontal armor._

_He gasped. He hadn't checked Maegorod's back. Carefully, he lifted his body guard into a sitting position, letting the other elf lean against him. There. The armor had been penetrated in the left shoulder. Examining it closer, the prince's eyes widened. This wound was caused by a spider's sting._

_Leaves rustled behind him and he sprang up, drawing back his shaft, ready to let it fly. From above, the huge shape dropped, revealing itself to be a spider of immense size. It was female, and she lifted her forelegs, swayed slightly, eyes filled with wicked delight as she looked down on her prey. Her fangs opened wide, evil exuded from her, surrounding her like a dark aura. Immediately, the young prince knew who this was: Shelob, the last child of Ungoliant, ready to feast on whatever light could be found._

_A hideous hissing cackling noise emitted from her. "Ah! A golden-haired morsel for Shelob!"_

_The prince was no coward, but this spider unnerved him. He shot the arrow crying, "Maegorod!"_

_Somehow, the shaft missed its mark, only wounding Shelob. She shrieked in rage, leapt forward, and grabbed hold of the prince. "Know death!"_

_Pain filled his thoughts as fangs buried themselves into his shoulder. Again, he cried, "Maegorod!"_

_Darkness began creeping it- the spider wouldn't let go. He began to feel tired, weak, and lifeless. The world was fading around him, disappearing before him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blurs of green and brown. Suddenly, he flopped to the ground, hearing more shrieks of pain, and then the scuttling off of many legs. From his fading vision, the prince could see Shelob scrambling away. Gentle hands rolled him onto his back, and, looking up, he recognized Belegorn._

"_My prince!" Belegorn cried as he began to lift him._

_The prince managed to say, "Belegorn."_

"_Aye, lord, I am here. Stay awake until we get to the palace."_

_But he couldn't. Why did he need to? Blackness took over, warm and comforting, taking the pain away. Before it completely embraced him, he heard Belegorn._

"_Thranduil! No!"_

King Thranduil's eyes snapped open. Taking a deep breath, he looked around. He was in his own room, lying in his own bed. It had been years-before the Last Alliance-since that event. Belegorn's words were still echoing through his mind. More and more often he dreamt of that day. Sometimes twice a night. He remembered how drained he had felt when Shelob bit into him. He had been feeling the same way, as of late. As if someone was draining-sucking rather-the light from him.

Grimacing from the wound as he sat up, Thranduil contemplated his problem. He had thought that Shelob had gone off and died, for when Belegorn had returned with help, the elves had severely wounded her. How was it that light was still draining from him?

With a sigh, the king stood and walked out onto his balcony which overlooked the royal garden. A dirt path weaved through the flowers and trees below him, most of which being beech. A small stream ran through the garden on its way to the great river of Mirkwood which eventually went to the sea.

Thranduil breathed in the cool air, letting it clear his senses. A single lark trilled its song, a sure sign that dawn was not far off. In fact, as he looked to the east, the sky began to turn gray, the twinkling stars began to fade, bidding farewell to nighttime Middle Earth.

Thranduil re-entered his room and dressed for the day. Legolas would be leaving for Imladris in two hours.

The king entered the hall just as Belegorn and Maegorod approached. Both the bodyguards placed hands on their breasts and bowed their heads in greeting.

"Good morning, Belegorn, Maegorod. How do you fare?" Thranduil asked, pointedly looking at Maegorod.

Belegorn answered first, "I am well, my lord."

"As am I, Majesty."

Thranduil nodded as they began walking down the corridor. "Good. How is your shoulder, Maegorod?"

"It troubles me little, my lord, thank you. And of yours?"

Thranduil resisted the urge to spin around and look sharply at the elf. After a moment's hesitation, he answered. "It's quite fine, thank you."

Maegorod nodded, glancing at Belegorn.

They turned a corner and were soon greeted by Dimaether and Hirvegil, bodyguards of the prince, both of whom were dressed in traveling cloaks. The elves all greeted one another as they neared Legolas' chambers.

Thranduil looked at the closed doors. "Has my son not yet come out?"

"Nay, my lord. We were just about to check in on him. 'Tis almost time to depart," Hirvegil answered.

The king smiled warmly. "Aye, that it is. Here, I wish to speak to with him. Go on to the stables, we shall join you soon."

Dimaether and Hirvegil saluted again and walked off. After a meaningful look from Thranduil, Belegorn and Maegorod reluctantly followed. Shaking his head with a smile, the king knocked and opened the door.

"Legolas?"

His son dropped lightly from the window sill he had been occupying. "_A, Adar._"

Thranduil glanced at the filled pack on the bed. "I see that you are ready. But why so glum, _Ion-nin_? You normally look forward to your trips to Imladris."

Legolas gave a weak smile. "I know, Ada. It is just that-" Legolas stopped himself, apparently unsure of what to say.

Thranduil gazed at his son curiously. "It is just what, Legolas?"

The prince averted his eyes. "You, Ada. You are different."

"Different?"

"Aye. You do not glow like you used to. It is as if you are fading." Legolas looked at his father, almost fearfully.

Thranduil smiled comfortingly. "What you see, Ion-nin, is just the result of these dark days. Do not worry about me."

Legolas smiled back, nodding slightly, still uncertain of his father's health.

Thranduil motioned for Legolas to follow him. "Now come. We must make sure everything is ready."

* * *

Belegorn and Maegorod stood in the stable's entrance, waiting for their king to appear. Everything was quiet and peaceful, the air filled with the sounds of awakening horses and the sweet smell of hay. A few stalls down, an elf was grooming his horse, the constant rhythm of the brush wafting out to meet their ears. However, all of this was lost to them, for they were conversing earnestly in low tones.

"I asked Relcah about it the other day, when I was getting something to waylay the illness. Because it is that time of year, I inquired after Thranduil. For a few minutes, she was silent, her back turned to me. When she did answer, tears were forming in her eyes," Maegorod was saying.

Belegorn looked gravely at his companion. "He is fading."

"Aye, she can do nothing."

"What about Lord Elrond? He is the greatest healer in all of Middle-Earth, surely something can be done!"

"I also asked that. Relcah told me that not even Lord Elrond's healing master could possibly come up with a cure that could return the king's light! He is simply fading."

Belegorn sighed heavily, turning his gaze toward the ground. "It amazes me he can still go on year after year. I never thought he would make it when I first saw that monster holding him in her fangs."

"Aye," Maegorod agreed. "She only stung me, and I barely get past the day with the help of medicine! Yet, he was bitten and has only had to discontinue court twice since becoming King."

"Indeed. I remember before, when Oropher was still alive, Thranduil fought it every year, and only sometimes defeated the illness. And then he became king. It's as if his new responsibility gave him the strength to defeat the illness. Why?"

Maegorod shrugged. "I do not know. However, I have a feeling that he won't be able to fight it off much longer."

Belegorn nodded before saying, "When is the exact date, again?"

"In two days."

"Do you think Prince Legolas knows?"

"If he did, he would not be leaving," Maegorod stated.

A close neigh drew their attention, and they looked up to see Dimaether and Hirvegil approach them leading three horses.

Belegorn smiled. "Ready to go?"

"Aye," Dimaether answered. "And we shall, as soon as the escort is ready."

"Which shouldn't be too long," Hirvegil cut in.

Maegorod looked around the stable yard. "Where are they?"

"The escort? They will be following us on foot," said Hirvegil.

Belegorn frowned. "Are they not going to travel the whole way?"

Dimaether shook his head. "Nay, only to the fringes of our realm. Since the Misty Mountains have been made safe, we do not need a much larger company."

Belegorn nodded understandably. "I should have known that, even though I rarely travel."

"Aye," Maegorod agreed. "Because of the shadow here, the king can not do much traveling."

"Speaking of the king," Hirvegil began. "How is he? He hasn't seemed well, as of late."

Belegorn and Maegorod looked at each other, remaining silent.

Dimaether gazed at them steadily. "Is something wrong?"

Finally Belegorn said, "It is this growing shadow, taking its toll on him. Nothing more." He glanced at Maegorod-it was close enough to the truth.

An elf dressed as a scout came walking up to the group. "Where is the prince? We are ready."

"He will be here soon enough," Galion announced, unexpectantly walking up.

The elf smiled sheepishly. "I know, but we are restless. The spiders have been coming out more than usual. The sooner we are done with this, the better."

"Why thank you, it's nice to know that I'm so loved." The elves looked up, startled, to Legolas coming up with Thranduil close behind.

The elf's eyes widened and after an extremely hasty salute, he said, "My lord! That's not what I meant!"

Legolas laughed. "I know. _Avo bresto._"

The elf smiled gratefully in return and bowed.

Thranduil looked around. The escort party was just outside the stable yard, he could see each elf checking their weapons and light haversacks. Not far away, Dimaether and Hirvegil were doing the same. So he asked, "Is everyone ready?"

Legolas' guards nodded, as did the scout.

Thranduil nodded back. "Then you should be off. No use waiting any longer if there is no need to."

In a few minutes, they were standing before the gates, ready to depart. Legolas and his guards mounted, while the escort edged impatiently toward the entrance. Only a few elves were gathered to fare the travelers well, most of them servants. For in these dark days, most of Mirkwood's residents were warriors, soldiers ready to give their lives for the great forest's well being.

Standing beside Legolas, Thranduil reached up and clasped his son's arm. "May Ilúvatar be with you."

Legolas returned the gesture and smiled back. "Since when isn't He?"

Backing away, Thranduil commanded the doors to open.

The mammoth structures moved silently, slowly allowing passage into the forest. The escort moved swiftly through, passing the still opening gates. In the dark gloom, the escort could be seen swinging noiselessly up into the trees, ensuring a safe route to the edge of the forest. Once the gates stopped moving, Legolas, Dimaether, and Hirvegil rode out of the palace, beginning their journey to Rivendell.

Once the elves were out of sight, Thranduil shut his mighty gates, hoping fervently that no harm would befall his son.

* * *

Two days later found Maegorod swallowing the foul-tasting liquid with a grimace, hoping to completely chase the pain in his shoulder away. Relcah had provided him with a powder, one she had newly invented, to mix with his water at the beginning of the day. Apparently, she had mixed a few herbs, that were already used to treat such illnesses, in hope of a stronger concoction.

Sitting on the side of his bed, Maegorod smiled as the herbs swiftly began their work. Well, Relcah had certainly succeeded. Next time he saw her, Maegorod would be sure to thank her.

Donning a grayish-brown cloak, he was just about to buckle on his sword when a knock sounded at the door. Maegorod opened it to see a similarly dressed Belegorn awaiting him. "Belegorn! Is it dawn already?"

For answer, Belegorn walked over to the window and threw the curtains wide, letting sunlight stream in. "An hour past! I've actually been waiting for Thranduil to awaken."

Maegorod looked at his companion in surprise before hastening out the door. "Then why are you not there by his chambers?"

Belegorn caught up as Maegorod finished buckling the sword into place. "Arvellon is there-I had to come get you! I forgot that you sleep in on this day, otherwise I would've come for you sooner."

"An hour…_Nan aear ar in elin_! And the king hasn't woken? That is strange. I woke scarce thirty minutes ago, thinking I was up on time. But for Thranduil, that's a bit much."

They rounded the next corner and could see Arvellon standing dutifully with his back to the king's door. The elf was dressed in similar fashion as the two bodyguards, except with a dark brown cloak that was clasped at his left shoulder, indicating that he was a palace guard.

Belegorn nodded to him. "Thank you, Arvellon. No sign of him yet?"

Arvellon shook his head. "Nay, but I do not doubt that he will be soon."

With quick salutes to one another, Arvellon walked off.

After a moment's silence, Belegorn spoke up. "Do you suppose it is the wound?"

Maegorod shrugged. "Most likely."

"Hmm….Is yours not bothering you yet?"

"Not right now. Relcah has concocted a new herbal powder to help stings."

"I see that it works."

"It does indeed."

A dull clunk announced the act of moving the latch to open the door. Both elves took a step forward and turned around as Thranduil walked into the passage way. Belegorn and Maegorod saluted and bowed from the waist. When they rose, they caught the tail end of Thranduil's polite nod.

The king was dressed like his guards, except for slight color variations and more detailed clothing. The cloak that was draped across his shoulders was a deep green. He stood straight and tall, with proud bearing. Despite all this, however, Belegorn and Maegorod couldn't help but notice how ill he looked. His face was quite pale, and the dark circles around his eyes denoted that his sleep had not been well.

The two guards exchanged worried glances but said nothing. Thranduil hated to admit injury or fatigue, so they walked on in silence.

As they neared the throne room, Galion approached. "My lord, Captain Elhadron awaits in the throne room to give his report."

"Thank you, Galion. I had been wishing to speak with him."

The doors opened for them, and the hall was silent as the king entered. Belegorn noticed Thranduil hesitate slightly before going through the door. There were only a few elves in the hall, all of whom bowed as Thranduil passed. Almost as soon as Thranduil sat, Belegorn and Maegorod standing on either side of him, the captain began his report.

An unusually large number of spiders had been spotted in the north western perimeter. Patrols of ten or more orcs were frequently seen in the southern area.

From the look on Elhadron's face, the captain wasn't all that concerned with giving his report. He was intently looking at King Thranduil, who seemed to be even weaker than before. Belegorn and Maegorod also had to divide their attention between their surroundings, and worrying about their king.

"My lord," Elhadron said when he ended his report. "Are you well?"

Thranduil smiled much too weakly as he replied quietly, "I am fine."

"Are you certain?" the captain asked, taking a step forward.

"Yes, I am fine." As if to prove it, he stood up. Once on his feet, Thranduil swayed slightly, and without much warning, he collapsed.

Belegorn dashed forward just in time to catch the king. His mind flashed back to the day he had returned to Thranduil and Maegorod's aid, bursting into the clearing to see Shelob lifting the then prince by the shoulder. Gently lowering the king, Belegorn couldn't help but touch the shoulder. Though unconscious, Thranduil moaned at the gentle touch.

Elhadron began shouting out orders. "You there! Go fetch Relcah! Camen, close off the throne room. Galion, you may want to start spreading the word that King Thranduil will not be holding court for a few days." He turned to the guards. "That ought to be enough time for him to heal, right?"

They looked into the captain's hopeful face. For a few moments, they couldn't say anything.

Finally, Maegorod answered. "We don't know."

* * *

_Mas le-_Where are you?

_A-_ Hi

_Adar-_ Father

_Nan aear ar in elin-_By the sea and the stars!

**Okay, that was fun. I accept flames, critique, and plain ol' nice reviews. I've got a poll on my profile that I'd like you to...um...poll on. Please be honest.**


	9. Ch9 A Song Requested

**How come I only got one review last chapter? Well, I'll forgive you...:) Aaaand, I'll even give you a new chapter! Aren't I nice?**

* * *

Maglor glanced furtively about, looking to see if anyone was near. He was in a secluded area of Elrond's private garden; it was an area in Imladris that the elven-lord would often seek solitude, for this was one of the few places that he and his family could roam without any distractions whatsoever. Elrond had kindly offered Maglor complete freedom to come and go in the garden, which the son of Fëanor gratefully accepted. Though all the elves in Imladris seemed to not know him, he was still cautious. This almost extreme apprehension was due to the kinslayings.

Seeing no one, Maglor settled down next to a tree and opened the book. From the title, 'Quenta Silmarillion,' Maglor already knew that it was about the Silmarils. He had seen it in the library and felt compelled to read it. So, he impulsively grabbed-jerked rather- the book from its place on the shelf and all but fled to the garden.

Taking a deep breath, he began to read.

It had been late morning when he had started, and now, the light was dimming and the sky was darkening. The first star was glimmering in the night when Maglor suddenly slammed the book shut. Tossing it aside, the elf leaned back and closed his eyes. Tears slid silently down his face as he played ancient memories through his mind. And then a voice spoke.

"_Quenta Silmarillion_."

Maglor leaped up and reached for his sword, when he saw that it was only an _elleth_. Then he realized that he was unarmed. Blushing slightly, Maglor bowed his head and studied the elleth that stood before him.

At first, his apprehensions rushed back, for she strongly resembled Lúthien Tinúviel. He soon saw, however, that it was not the daughter of Thingol. An image flashed through his mind: Elwing, holding the Silmaril to her, looking one last time at the last two sons of Fëanor.

"Are you Elrond's daughter?" He inquired.

The elleth's face took on that of surprise. "Indeed, I am. I must admit, I expected you to say something about Lúthien. Most people do."

Maglor smiled. "Well then, _I _must admit, I thought you _were_, at first. But your eyes say differently. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Arwen Undómiel," she answered with a beautiful smile. "And you must be Roglam. You have caused quite a stir among the inhabitants of the Last Homely House."

"I should think so," said Maglor with a laugh. "I am sure it is not everyday that a strange elf arrives ill because he did battle with these dark riders."

Arwen joined in with his laughter, and the two fell into a companionable silence.

Arwen turned to look at Maglor. The older elf had his gaze fixed upon the heavens. She looked as well and quickly picked out the star of Eärendil.

"There," she said, pointing it out. "That is my favorite star. It is my grandfather's, you know."

Maglor smiled slightly, sadly, and answered. "Some would argue that it belongs to Fëanor."

She cast him a sideways glance. "That is what _Adar_ has said. Though he told me he prefers it to be Eärendil's."

"Eärendil deserves it. He did not shed blood over it."

Arwen looked at the book in her hands. She had never known a statement to be so full of sorrow.

At length, she said, "Were those tears I saw, when I walked up?"

Maglor answered without taking his gaze away from the star. "Aye."

"I've known elves to weep after reading this account, but I have never met one that could not even finish without crying."

"Only because I remember."

They were both quiet.

Finally, Arwen spoke. "You must have lost so much during that time."

Maglor's gaze fell. His answer was painfully soft. "More than any will ever know."

Arwen could not find the words to say. All the emotions in his voice told her that what he said was true. Any pain and suffering she would ever experience would never even compare to his. Looking at him, she couldn't help but wonder what he was before the War of the Jewels. He could have been anything. A healer, a blacksmith, a servent-anything. But something about him reminded her of a prince. He looked to be a lord; but the slump in his shoulders and the grief in his eyes, almost took that completely from the elf.

It was quite obvious he had lost his family then. She wanted to know how, but she couldn't bring herself to ask.

Suddenly, Maglor stirred."Come, my lady. I believe the meal is being served. Though why it has not been served already, I will never know. Especially with that halflings fondness for food.

Arwen laughed as they made their way to the dining hall, stopping by the library to return the book.

Elves were just sitting to eat, and Maglor could see the hobbit, Bilbo, already licking his chops as the food passed before him. Elrond was at the head of the table with Gandalf at his left. Maglor escorted Arwen to her place at Elrond's right hand, before he himself sat next to Gandalf.

Maglor soon forgot his depressed feelings that were brought upon him by the reminder of the past. Elvish meals, while often melancholy, are among the most joyful in Arda. Laughter and talking filled the air, mingled with a few songs that were being recalled. The Noldo noticed that most of the merriment came from the hobbit's section.

Elrond and Gandalf were conversing quietly and seriously, but Maglor only paid half attention to this. He noticed Arwen searching the faces as if looking for someone.

"_Ada_," she said, getting Elrond's attention. "Has Glorfindel still not returned?"

Maglor discreetly turned to listen. He had first seen the Balrog slayer the day Elrond had allowed him to actually leave his room. When he saw Glorfindel, he immediately turned around to go in the opposite direction, hoping fervently that the blond elf hadn't caught sight of him. And, if he did, Maglor hoped Glorfindel didn't recognize him. So, for a few days, Maglor had been avoiding him as much as possible. Then, four days ago, Glorfindel had left and Maglor had no idea why.

"Nay, daughter," Elrond replied. "I have told them to return when they either found them, or are convinced Estel and the hobbits were not that way."

Arwen nodded and fell silent.

After the feast, the elves, wizard, and hobbit moved to a large room known as the Hall of Fire. There, music was the central activity. A large fire commanded the middle fo the hall, lighting the room with its warm and flickering glow. Around it, elves gathered, to talk, tell tales, or sing; though most of the minstrels were in different corners of the room. Elrond, Gandalf, and Maglor took a seat near the fire to converse in low tones.

"What did Ulmo say?" Gandalf asked, very much interested in the quest, having heard the whole story a few nights before.

Maglor sighed, "Master Gandalf, I have told you several times already: 'The original light could renew the light to the trees.'"

The wizard settled back. "Let us take this one step at a time. The original light came from…?"

Maglor, eyebrows raised, looked at him. "I do believe you know the answer to that."

Gandalf glared back. "Of course I do I just want someone else to tell me, just so I know you two remember."

Elrond sighed. "The original light came from the trees."

"Precisely, which, I believe, is why the jewels could restore the tree's light. So, if the new light comes from Ilúvatar, one would assume that the light must be restored to Him."

"Except that's ridiculous because Ilúvatar's light never dims," Maglor said, cutting in.

The three fell silent, each with his own ponderings.

A young elf, not far away, saw the lull in their conversation and took advantage of it. "Lord Roglam!"

Maglor exchanged glances with Elrond. It had been quite some time since someone had called him 'Lord.'

"Yes?" he answered.

"I was wondering if you could trouble us with a song," the young elf requested, eyes filled with hope.

Maglor stiffened. A song? True, he loved to sing, but since the kinslayings, he had been hesitant to do it in public. And even during his wanderings, he feared someone would hear him. However, before he could reply, another elf spoke up.

"Lindir! Don't assume that every visitor who comes to Imladris is comfortable singing publicly." The speaker was Erestor, a close friend and counselor of Elrond's. Maglor was almost certain the elf was old enough to remember the War of the Jewels but luckily did not know the appearance of the Fëanorians.

Lindir blushed slightly, bowing his head.

Maglor's mouth quirked into a small smile. "Yes, especially since you don't know if the stranger has the voice of a lark or a dying toad."

Lindir looked back up. "And which do you have, Lord Roglam?"

Maglor sat pensively, brow furrowed. Finally, he answered. "Well, I'm inclined to think of it more like a lark and most certainly not akin to a dying toad. However, I've noticed my hawk often comes diving from the sky when I begin to sing, so I must at least sound like a dying hare."

Laughter rippled throughout the room, and when it subsided, Lindir persisted. "Will you please sing?"

After a moment's hesitation, Maglor nodded. "Do you have a request?"

Lindir smiled broadly. "Yes, _Noldolantë. _I've never heard a minstrel give it justice."

Maglor couldn't speak for a few seconds. Of all the songs, it had to be that one. Maglor wasn't sure if he should sing it or pick something else. In the end, he sang it.

Most of the elves in the Hall of Fire were having quiet conversations of their own, paying no mind to the happenings around the flames. When Maglor began to sing, however, everyone was completely enraptured.

No instrument was being used; Maglor's voice was unadultarated. He didn't need an instrument. It was as if they heard the instruments through his voice, it was so melodious.

As his voice soared and fell, so did the hearts and spirits of everyone else. The pain and sadness of the song reached them to extents that no other minstrel had been able to do. Everyone was spellbound, feeling that the emotions and words were wholly the singers.

When the last notes faded, not a soul moved. Maglor turned to stare into the fire, emotionaly drained.

After a long silence, one elf spoke up.

"You're one of them, aren't you," Erestor accused.

"Erestor," Elrond said, his warning tone quiet.

"You are a son of Fëanor," Erestor continued bitterly. "Why are you here? What is it that you want?!"

"Erestor," Lindir cut in. "How could he be one of _the_?" The word 'them' was said with such contempt, Maglor inwardly shuddered. "I doubt one of those cowards could ever show their faces again!"

"And besides," began, yet another, "most of them are known to be dead anyway. The last two must have surely perished by now somehow."

Suddenly, Maglor rose. "Peace, friends. My Lord Erestor, I will certainly not deny that I was there. And do not worry, I plan on leaving tomorrow." And then he calmly left, without a backward glance.

The night seemed suddenly cooler as Maglor hastened to his room. His pace never slackened, and his senses constantly tensed. Already, a plan was forming in his mind.

Tonight, he would scour his map to find the best route from Imladris to Gondor, and he would hurry. Tomorrow morning, he would leave before light. He had pressed his luck staying in Rivendell for as long as he did. He didn't want to stay too much longer.

He passed a few elves and smiled politely at them and hurried on. Though it was quite apparent that Erestor was the only one who believed his cover a lie, Maglor was even more hesitant about meeting an other's eyes.

Maglor reached his room, opened the door, slipped in, closed it right behind himself, and sank down against it. He closed his eyes tighty and began weeping silently.

Why had Lindir requested _Noldolantë_? It brought back so many memories of his life before the jewels, and during the jewels before leaving Valinor. And, of course, all that took place when his father made those decisions.

Maglor could stil remember every face of every elf he had ever killed. At times, he would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, desperately trying to wash his hands of the blood he had shed. When that happened, Maedhros had always been there to wrap Maglor in his arms while whispering soothing words to his younger brother. After Maedhros' death, however, Maglor could get no comfort.

His tears only lasted for a few minutes, but he soon fell into a light sleep.

For how long he was like this, Maglor did not know. What he did know, was that someone knocking on the door woke him up.

Maglor stood silently and waited a moment before answering. He was surprised to see Arwen standing there. "My lady!"

She smiled and asked, "You are not leaving because of what Lord Erestor said, are you?"

"Nay, fair lady," Maglor replied with his own smile. Indeed, he knew that many elves were never going to forgive his actions; so Erestor's bitterness, while hurtful, had no play in his decision to leave the next day, though it did make the time he had planned on leaving much earlier.

"Oh, good!" Her smile widened. "His family was killed in the kinslayings, so one can not blame him too much for his response. Lindir was right, no singer has ever done that song justice."

Maglor's face softened. "Did I?"

Arwen's expression became distant. "I felt as if I was there. I doubt the author of that song could have sung it better."

Maglor bowed his head. He hated how they avoided using the name of his family and his own name. "Thank you, my lady."

She smiled once more then left.

Maglor watched her retreating form before closing the door and beginning his preperations for the next day's journey.

_Elleth- _Female elf

_Ada/Adar- _Daddy/Father

**Review, por favor.**


	10. Ch10 A Friendly Farewell

**Here you go, a new chappie. Hope you enjoy!**Maglor stole quietly across the courtyard, bag slung over his shoulder. A few stars still glimmered in the sky, slowly dimming as dawn approached. Gray light could already be seen in the east, but not a soul stirred, and for that, Maglor was grateful.

* * *

When he came to the stable yard, Maglor paused. Standing silent, he intently listened to the sounds around him. All seemed to be well, a few of the horses stirred, shuffling within their stalls. Distantly, a lark began its morning song. Nothing seemed out of place.

However, Maglor knew better. He sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good morning, Elfling."

A low chuckle sounded behind him, and the light, barely audible footsteps of the peredhil approached. "It has been many centuries since we parted ways, yet you can still tell when I approach you."

Maglor turned to face Elrond. "Elfling, _we_ did not part ways. _I_ parted ways."

Elrond stopped next to Maglor. "You always did know, didn't you? You always knew that Elros would choose a mortal life, and I an immortal."

"Why do you say that?"

Elrond looked away. "Because, you called me Elfling and called Elros, 'little man.'"

Maglor smiled back sadly. "I did not _know_, as you suggest. I only guessed. He had a temperament such like a man's. Maedhros would often tell me that Elros would never adhere to an elf's life, and I agreed. He was a better judge in such matters than I. We could see you would both be great but among different people."

Both elves walked into the stable. Maglor sang a quiet lullaby to keep the horses calm as he began saddling Yhtomit.

Elrond spoke. "Why did I not see it?"

Maglor stopped. "See what, Elfling?"

"Why did I not see the choice that Elros was to make?"

Maglor thought a moment before answering. "I suppose you believed that he would automatically make the same choice as you. Maybe, you thought that the will of your brother's would be the same as yours." He went back to buckling on the saddle. "Sometimes, Elrond, we only believe things will happen the way we want it to. So, when it happens otherwise, we are severely disappointed."

Elrond sat silent.

Maglor grabbed the bridle, awakening Willop, who had been sleeping on the post the bridle had been hung upon. The hawk squawked a bit at first, but soon calmed down when he realized that they were leaving soon.

"You do realize," Elrond began. "That leaving so soon will only arouse their suspicions even more."

With a sudden jerk, Maglor finished cinching the saddle, a surprised grunt coming from Yhtomit. "I don't really care. As soon as I have accomplished my task, people are bound to find out. It doesn't even matter how great or small it is, once a Silmaril is revealed, word _will _get out. It is only a small jump from there to figure out who is in possession of it."

More silence followed.

"Do you have a route picked out?" Elrond asked.

Maglor cast a glance in his direction before taking out his map and showing Elrond. "From Imladris, I shall proceed south into Dunland and enter the land of Rohan through the Gap of Rohan. Continuing east, I shall hug the fringes of Fangorn, cross over the Wold, and follow the Anduin down to Gondor."

Elrond studied the map and nodded slowly. "That will work. However, I suggest giving Isengard a wide berth," he said, pointing it out.

"Why, what is wrong with Isengard?" inquired Maglor.

"Saruman, the White Wizard," Elrond replied gravely. "He is a Maia, and though once respected and honest, Gandalf and I fear that he turned against us. My sons have reported orcs and wargs patrolling the area. It is not safe."

"Thank you for the warning. It would not have been good if I was ambushed by such patrols. Anything else?"

"No warnings that I can think of. I do wonder though, why do you not just cross over Rohan? It will bring you to Gondor more quickly."

"I thought of doing so at first. However, the more I thought of it, the less I liked the idea. I did not want to be caught by one of the country's own patrols. I figured that those patrols would delay me as long as this route would-if not longer."

Elrond nodded again, seeing the sense in it.

At length, Maglor asked, "Who lives in Lothlórien?"

"Galadriel, your cousin," Elrond answered, studying the older elf's face closely.

Maglor looked sharply at the peredhil. "Galadriel? She has not yet gone for Valinor? Why not?"

"She married to Lord Celeborn. They now reside in Lórien as Lord and Lady of the Golden wood."

Maglor turned away, staring once more at the map. "Married…to Lord Celeborn. Too much has happened that I have not known of."

"Ulmo never told you these things?" Elrond asked.

"No. Not that I remember. Well, I vaguely recall him telling me of new elven colonies, and a bit of the Númenorean race. That's it."

Elrond sighed deeply. "Well, then. You, my friend, have a lot to learn."

Maglor laughed and clapped Elrond on the shoulder. "Then I suppose I'll learn along the way."

Leading Yhtomit, the two walked towards Rivendell's narrow bridge, from whence Maglor would begin his journey.

The easter sky was now largely pink, and a few elves were now hurrying to their own various duties, passing through hallways and across courtyards like shadows. Some would see their elven-lord and his friend, and would greet them as they passed. They were only a few yards from the bridge, when a the first few scents of breakfast were already wafting out to mee them.

At the bridge they halted.

"You have enough rations?" Elrond inquired.

"Aye. I took the liberty of plundering your kitchens last night. Your head cook was kind enough to outfit me with enough food for an amry. The food will last me for quite some time."

"Good. Here, you may need this," Elrond said, handing Maglor a small pouch.

Maglor opened it to investigate. With some surprise, he said, "Coins."

"Aye, the currency of today, if ever you might have need of it."

Maglor placed it within his jerkin and embraced the peredhil fondly. "Thank you, my friend. Perhaps we will meet again."

As he pulled away, Elrond replied, "If we don't within a few years' time, I will personaly hunt you out and bring you back here to live."

Maglor just laughed. "Farewell, elfling."

"Farewell, Maglor. May Ilúvatar guide your path and protect you," Elrond said.

Maglor, Yhtomit still following with Willop perched on his back, swiftly crossed the bridge. On the other side, he mounted, raised his hand in a final farewell, and urged Yhtomit into a trot away from Imaldris.

* * *

They rode in silence for an hour or so. Willop would often fly up to overlook their journey, winging down to report his findings, or just to take a break.

It was during one of these breaks that Willop posed a question. _'Were you good friends?'_

Maglor jerked out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry?"

'_Were you good friends with the elf, whatisname-Elrond?'_

Maglor chuckled. _'Aye, we were. Still are, I suppose. He's like a son to me. I raised them.'_

'_Them?' _Yhtomit asked. _'There's only one.'_

'_He had a brother. A twin, whose name was Elros.'_

'_Oooh,'_ began Willop. _'Twins. Like you, Yhtomit.'_

Yhtomit snorted.

However, Maglor's curiosity was piqued. _'What do you mean twins like Yhtomit?'_

Willop jumped off Maglor's shoulder and began flying just above the elf's head. _'Yhtomit has a twin, what was his name? Mikaile! That's it.'_

'_Who is Mikaile?'_ Maglor asked.

Yhtomit hopped over a small brook. _'Do you remember the white horse the wizard Gandalf rode? That's him.'_

'_But I thought his name was Shadowfax.'_

Again, Yhtomit snorted. _'Among two-legged creatures, it is. We were born among men. They gave us names, but we were also named by our sire.'_

'_So, if they named Mikaile Shadowfax, what did they name you?'_

'_I don't remember. I left by the time I was three.' _He arched his neck proudly. _'No one can ride me.'_

'_I can.'_

'_Only because I allow you. I could throw you.'_

Maglor laughed. _'You could try. I've been riding horses long before either of you were born.'_

Yhtomit didn't reply but continued on, slightly quickening his pace.

The land was wide and flat, with only a few trees spotted here and there. To their left, the landscape became rocky and rose to form the base of the mountains. Since it was still morning, the mountains shadowed them, making the land seem darker than it actually was.

A lone howl sounded.

Yhtomit stopped, ears perked and ready to run, while Maglor reached for his bow. Willop took off to scan the surrounding area. All was quiet, and Maglor carefully examined the rocky bases of the mountains. Several times he thought he saw dark shapes creeping among the mountain shrubbery. Willop came diving down.

'_Wargs! I counted five__ and did not see any others,' _he reported.

"Good. Yhtomit, keep at a quick pace, but not your swiftest. We will see what their intentions are soon enough," Maglor said, notching an arrow.

Yhtomit obeyed, starting at a brisk trot. Being a Mearas, he had much more courage than an average horse and did not feel much fear from the hideous wolves.

Not two minutes had passed when the howls and barks of the wargs were heard in abundance, and the five wargs Willop had spotted were galloping toward them.

Maglor shot off one arrow at them, felling a beast. He turned Yhtomit toward them, making the wargs falter in confusion at thei prey's lack of fear.

Maglor quickly loosed two more arrows, killing with both shots. The last two wargs were swiftly bearing down on the elf and horse, closing in on both sides. Maglor drew his sword and turned to the one closest to him.

The beast leapt for the horse's throat, while at the same time, Yhtomit veered left and Maglor plunged down his sword, stabbing the warg through the mouth. It fell with a thump, its roar faltering to a dying gurgle in its throat.

Excited yelps sounded behind them, and they turned to see Willop fluttering around the last warg's head. With one mighty swing of its paw, the warg struck the hawk down. It was about to finish Willop off, when a bright blade swung between its head and body, flinging the severed head several feet away.

Maglor swung down and examined the bird closely. The warg's claws had raked across Willop's back and left wing. Though the wound was shallow, it crippled Willop for a time. At the moment, the hawk was unconcsious, lying limp on the ground.

The elf grabbed a blanket and carefully wrapped Willop in it. Turning to Yhtomit, Maglor sighed. "It seems that this route is more dangerous than I anticipated."

* * *

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	11. Ch11 A Hope Extinguished

**Sorry it took so long!! It may have been lack of reviews....:) Anywho, here ya go!**

* * *

Relcah sighed heavily. It had been two days since King Thranduil had collapsed, and he hadn't fully wakened yet. For the first twenty-four hours, Thranduil had lain still, deathly pale and barely breathing. Soon after, he began to run a fever. Thranduil had tossed and turned, mumbling incoherent words. The fever had reached its height ten hours ago and started to lessen when Relcah began using athelas.

Athelas, precious, glorious weed. The king's healer often wondered what she would do without it. Yet, it was not working as well as it usually did. Yes, the fever had gone down-but not considerably.

Relcah had used the herbs that she specially mixed for spider wounds before she resorted to athelas; the herbs normally worked quite well on their own. Relcah concluded that Thranduil's old wound had progressed to a severe state much faster than she had expected. Maybe she should have sent a message to Lord Elrond along with the prince. Perhaps the master healer could help.

A low moan came from the bed. Relcah turned to see Thranduil stirring. She hurried to pour a cup of water, anticipating his thirst, quietly calling to Galion and the king's two bodyguards in from the hall.

Thranduil groaned and tried to raise himself up. As Relcah hurried forward to catch him, knowing that he would fall back, she heard mumbled exclamations, and a tall figure rushed passed her. It was Belegorn, and the loyal guard caught the king as he fell.

"Not so fast, my lord," Belegorn said, supporting Thranduil's head as Relcah raised the cup to his lips.

After drinking, Thranduil, with Belegorn's help, rose into a sitting position. He surveyed the faces around him but was too tired to remember the events that brought him here.

"What happened?" he murmured.

"You collapsed after hearing Elhadron's report, Sire," answered Galion.

Thranduil leaned back, thinking for a moment. Then he nodded slightly. "Was it because of the wound?"

"Yes, my lord."

Again, Thranduil nodded. "Did anyone ride out to tell Legolas?"

Everyone looked at each other in puzzlement. They hadn't thought that King Thranduil would have wanted that.

Finally, Maegorod answered. "Nay, my lord. We felt it would be best that Prince Legolas finish his errand without any added stress.

Thranduil nodded once more. "Good. How long have I lain here?"

Relcah looked up from an herbal remedy she was mixing. "For two days, Sire."

"Two days?!" Thranduil straightened violently, surprised that he had been ill for so long. Maegorod and Belegorn restrained him before Thranduil was actually out of bed. The king didn't resist, as he was too weak to fight them.

Relcah went to the doorway and exchanged a few quiet words with another elf in the hall. When she turned back, she said, "My lord, don't even attempt leaving that bed for at least a few more days. You're still much too weak to actually do anything."

Thranduil sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "But the kingdom needs leadership during this time! The people surely must know-or at least suspect-that I am ill. That will damage their morale."

"Yes, Sire, it may," answered Galion placidly. "And I doubt not that they suspect something is wrong, but court is not to be held for about a week. That is what we announced, and it will not change unless you are declared fit enough to return to your duties before the week is up."

Thranduil glared at his butler. "Who, exactly, decided that I was to stay from my duties for so long?"

Maegorod decided to jump in. "'Twas a group effort, really. Your most trusted advisors, along with Relcah, Galion, Belegorn, and myself. Oh, and Captain Elhadron, seeing as how he was the first to respond to your collapse.

"And what of the servants who were there?"

"We have told them to keep silent of the whole incident, or they will face your wrath." Maegorod smiled mischievously.

Thranduil turned his glowering gaze to face Maegorod's cheerful countenance. "Oh, how I love that you dole out my judgment so merrily."

Belegorn chuckled. "Considering how long we've known you, I'd say we have every right."

The elvenking smiled and shook his head. "If ever you talk to me like that in public, I'm not sure I want to think of what I'd do to you."

"What, indeed?" Relcah said. "Now, we've had a nice talk, why don't you get some more rest?"

Thranduil settled back a little. "I should, though I am quite hungry."

As if on cue, an elf appeared in the doorway, holding a steaming bowl of soup.

Relcah took the bowl, thanking the other elf. "I knew you would be, that's why I sent for some soup. The kitchen staff always seem to have some stewing in their pot."

Thranduil gratefully accepted the bowl and then inquired after the happenings in the kingdom. While he ate, Galion related everything to him.

One could say that nothing_ major_ had happened, but there had been a slight increase of attacks from the enemy. Especially near Dol Guldor, orcs and spiders were being spotted more frequently, and skirmishes were more fierce than normal.

It was becoming harder for the woodelves and the men of laketown to do trading. Though, a group of these men had made it safely, with aid from the woodelves, through Mirkwood while on their way to Rivendell.

Thranduil set aside his bowl half-way through the report, and when the report was finished, made a few remarks. Relcah then shooed Belegorn, Maegorod, and Galion out of the room so the monarch could get some sleep.

She gave Thranduil a sleeping drought, which he oddly did not refuse. In seconds, he was sleeping, so Relcah quickly stole out of the room. She was met by three anxious faces.

After a moment of silence, Galion spoke. "Well?"

Relcah opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"How is he, exactly?" Belegorn asked with some impatience.

The healer glanced quickly around before answering in a low voice. "I fear for him." Her voice trembled. "I do not believe he will be alive in two years." Silent tears ran down her face as her news was met with shocked silence.

Galion closed his eyes and bowed his head. Maegorod leaned heavily against the wall, attempting to gather his thoughts which were now all in disarray. Only Belegorn managed a reply.

"Valinor! We must send him to Valinor! If we can't come up with a cure, surely the Valar can," he suggested urgently.

"Don't you think I've thought of that?!" Relcah lashed out. "Do you think he'd agree? Of course not! Thranduil would never leave his realm while it is in the middle of a war! You of all people should know that. Besides, even if we forced him to take the journey, how would we do that? Would we put him to sleep the whole way? Or would we bind him hand and foot? I have racked my brains for answers and none come!" Relcah choked on a sob and buried her face in her hands.

"There must be something," Belegorn said, desperately looking around as if the answer would just pop up.

"Did you not hear Relcah?" Maegorod asked. "There is nothing to be done. I understand your feelings, Belegorn. We have protected Thranduil since he was just a babe! But how can one do something when there is nothing?"

They all were quiet for quite some time. Then, Galion straightened up to speak. "There is one thing we can do." They all looked at him. "We can be calm and serve our king more faithfully than ever before."

Silently, they all agreed to this task.

* * *

Legolas surveyed Rivendell silently from the top of the path. Not for the first time did he wish that Mirkwood was as peaceful as this. And not for the first time did he wish that he was home.

With a sigh, he urged his mount forward, Dimaether doing the same beside him.

Dimaether turned to look behind him. "Hirvegil should catch up soon."

Legolas merely nodded.

The bodyguard raised his eyebrows. "Not much of an answer."

Legolas shrugged.

Dimaether sighed and rolled his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Who says something's wrong?" Legolas retorted, defiance coming up slightly in his tone.

"You did."

"I said nothing."

"Exactly." Dimaether met the prince's gaze. "You've been quiet this whole trip, which means that something is bothering you."

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. "It's Adar," he said softly.

"Ah. You are worried about him. Of course."

"Aye. I think he is ill, but he denies it. Surely I am not the only one to have noticed," he said with an anxious tone.

After a moment of silence, Dimaether answered. "Nay, you are not. Hirvegil and I have taken note of this. I believe it bother's Belegorn and Maegorod as well. Though, when questioned, they said it was only the darkness."

"That is what Ada said too," Legolas mused.

Galloping hooves drew their attention, and they turned to see Hirvegil approaching.

"All is well," he said as he drew up. "No sign of goblin, orc, warg or anything of that type."

Legolas laughed a bit. "I'm not too surprised. The twins have hunted anything and everything within fifty league of Rivendell."

Hirvegil turned his gaze to their destination. Variously sized people could be seen among the structures of Rivendell. "Looks like we elves are not the only ones to come here for council."

The other two looked over as well. Even from their distance, they could still see what Hirvegil meant.

"_Hedhyd_," Legolas muttered darkly. "What, in all of Arda, do those bearded midgets need?"

"Who knows, but they could've chosen a different time to come," replied Dimaether.

Hirvegil smiled a little. "I saw some men too; perchance they have finally realized that they need help from an elf?"

This made the others smile and chuckle a bit as they prepared to have some interesting meetings.

* * *

Hedhyd-Dwarves.

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	12. Ch12 A Hostage Taken

**Hey, guys! I am so sorry it took so long. But, here it is.**

* * *

Maglor examined the area very carefully. It was a small basin in the earth with a sharp incline that curved back in to form a shallow cave. He also noted that it had walls on each side; therefore, in case of an attack, their backs and sides would be protected.

With a nod of satisfaction, Maglor led the way into the little shelter and began to set up camp.

'_I still don't see why you couldn't have just used the tree above this hill for your firewood,'_ Yhtomit grumbled.

Maglor chuckled. _'Because, I did not want someone to take note of it if they are some distance away.'_

'_Oh, and the smell of burning woo, and the glow from our fire _won't_ draw their attention?'_ Willop asked. The falcon had woken up some time ago, complaining at being wrapped up in such a constricting way.

'_Wargs have a fear of fire, so they shouldn't come too near if they are attracted.'_

'_So the theory goes,' _Yhtomit remarked, still a bit skeptical about the little alcove.

Maglor shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Within half-an-hour, the fire was crackling, Yhtomit was dozing-his tack on the ground nearby-and Maglor was tending to Willop's wound. Gently, he applied a healing salve to the wound and wrapped some bandages around the bird. When he was done, Maglor sat back to appraise his work.

'_So?' _Willop asked, looking at him hopefully.

'_I think you will be able to fly in a week's time,'_ Maglor replied.

'_A week!'_ Willop exclaimed, before adding miserably_, 'I may as well have died.'_

Maglor simply laughed at this statement.

The bird glared at the elf. _'You would feel the same if you had the ability to fly.'_

'_I'm sure I would. But you must remember, a week is much shorter than the rest of your life.'_

'_Unless he dies within a week's time,' _Yhtomit said from across the fire. _'Then it's about the same.'_

Willop groaned, as much as a bird can. _'Thank you so much for the encouragement. It raised my spirits considerably.'_

'_You are most welcome,'_ Yhtomit replied with undisguised smugness.

'_That's enough, you two!' _Maglor broke in before more could be said. _'We'll have a quick supper and then some sleep.'_

Supper mostly consisted of dried apples, grapes, and some biscuits made specially for traveling. Yhtomit had a few apples, but grass made up the rest of his meal. Willop ate some biscuits, though he complained a bit that he had no meat.

When this frugal meal was done, they settled down for some sleep. First, however, Maglor stepped a ways beyond their camp to listen. The Noldo used every bit of his concentration as he looked and listened for anything strange in his surroundings. It seemed that not a creature-good or evil-stirred. It was both disturbing and relieving. If anything was out here, they did an excellent job at hiding their existence.

After another minute or so had passed, Maglor made his way back to camp. He studied the fire for a bit and then doused it, deciding that he didn't need it for the night. Sitting against the back of the alcove, Maglor dozed on and off through the night, his weapons close at hand. He managed to get some sleep in, yet stayed alert the whole time.

Maglor started awake. Breathing hard, he listened intently to the night. Jumping up, he quickly wakened Yhtomit and Willop. Before the Mearas was completely awake, Maglor had cinched the saddle, buckled on the bridle, and stuffed the satchel containing the Silmaril into the saddle bag.

Still shaking off his drowsiness, Yhtomit inquired, _'What's wrong? Why are we leaving?'_

"The enemy," was all the Noldo replied aloud.

'_The enemy?' _Willop said, hopping on his legs while peering out into the darkness. _'I don't see anything.'_

Yhtomit took a whiff of the air, his ears perked forward as he also studied their darkened surroundings. _'And I don't hear of smell anything.'_

"That may be," Maglor said anxiously. "However, I know that they are there. I can sense them."

Kicking out the last of the camp fire, Maglor strapped on his weapons, all the while keeping alert to the seemingly asleep world around them.

To anyone but an elf such as Maglor, who was used to the life full of strife, they would have thought that all was at peace. But Maglor, who had so often snuck around in the night, his senses alert and tense to an extreme measure, had such experience that he could tell when a daytime bird a mile away was awake. An enemy trained in the highest degree of stealth would not pass twenty feet away in a violent storm without Maglor being somehow alerted to their presence.

So, to Yhtomit and Willop, whose own senses were quite usually infinitely better than a human's, all was well. To Maglor, however, almost nothing could be worse.

Mounting swiftly, Maglor urged Yhtomit forward. "Let us be twenty leagues away by dawn."

Yhtomit, catching on to Maglor's urgency, leapt forward into the darkness, somehow picking out the best routes. Willop, injured as he was, clung to the saddle with his claws and huddled against Maglor, beneath the elf's cloak. In this way, the trio pressed on through the night, all three keeping aware of their surroundings.

For a while, all that could be heard were the rythmatic beat of Yhtomit's hooves, mingling with the sound of his swift breathing, which could be seen escaping in small puffs of air from his nostrils. The moon shone coldly above, providing just enough light for them to go by, while casting eerie shadows against every rock, bush, and tree.

'_I see a warg!_' Willop suddenly warned.

This caused a slight pause to Yhtomit's gait. _'Where? Are you sure?!'_

'_Quite. It's a ways off,' _the bird replied.

"Keep going," Maglor muttered fiercely. "Don't let it slow you!"

The Mearas made no reply but continued, lengthening his stride. There were more than just the one, and the wargs were most certainly not the only wicked creatures about. The stench of orcs drifted out to meet them.

Maglor clenched his teeth in anger. "_Orqui_! That's all we need."

Three warg riders were suddenly charging toward them. Yhtomit wheeled around, not wanting to get into a skirmish, but five more riders were behind them. The same thing happened when they turned to the left and right.

Alarmed, Yhtomit began rushing toward the first three, in the direction they had initially been going. Grimly, Maglor drew his sword, seeing that there was not enough time to shoot any of them before the impending clash.

Settling into a rhythm once more, Yhtomit was indeed glad of such an experienced rider on his back. Willop, wishing more than ever that he had flight back, held on more tightly, lowering his body closer to the saddle in order to keep his balance.

Maglor glanced around and saw that more wargs and orcs had appeared. He barely had enough time to digest this when they met the first three warg riders. It looked like the wargs were going to part and turn to chase after them, while their riders swung at them with their blades. However, things happened quite differently.

As they began to part, two of the beasts jumped towards Yhtomit, startled, jumped himself. Despite Yhtomit's best efforts, he jumped a little late. The Mearas rocked back on his hind legs to power the leap. Just as he was pushing off, the first warg leapt over his back and grabbed a hold of Maglor before the elf could react.

In mid-air, the second warg just managed to clip the saddle strap on Yhtomit's belly, causing the saddle to slip sideways, with Willop now clutching the reins in one claw, and the saddle with the other.

When the warg jumped on Maglor, the beast grabbed onto Maglor's shoulder with its jaws, causing the Noldo to drop his sword as he tumbled to the ground. His cry of pain was also an order for Yhtomit to run and not stop, to which the stallion complied.

The monster that tackled him let go shortly after landing. Maglor rolled away and reached for his sword with his left hand. His injured right shoulder made his quick movements painful, but Maglor didn't have time to let that overwhelm him. Scrabbling for his sword, Maglor grasped the hilt and swung the blade hard, just catching the warg that was lunging toward him. The beast roared in pain as it was jerked away from the blow.

Maglor quickly gained his ground and stood up. As he readied for the next enemy, he glanced around to check for Yhtomit and Willop. He managed to catch sight of the fleeing pair, and barely had time to acknowledge the strange fact that they weren't being followed.

A whirring noise caught Maglor's attention making him turn, right before a chain mace came swinging down toward him. With a quick swing, his blade deflected the blow, which was followed by many more. Within moments, other orcs attacked the lone elf, making it nigh impossible for Maglor to even think of escaping. He knew that he wasn't able to take on so many.

Taking advantage of the situation, an orc took up a heavy cudgel and brought it crashing down on the elf's head.

The orcs laughed in delight of their prize as Maglor crumpled to the ground, senseless.

A few minutes later, Yhtomit was just about to turn around when an angry screech stopped him. The Mearas was quite suddenly aware of the saddle slipping off and something pulling on his mane.

'_Willop? Are you alright?' _Yhtomit asked, slowing to a complete halt.

'_Hold on for a moment,' _the hawk replied while he righted himself. Soon, he rested nicely on Yhtomit's back, letting the saddle slip off. _'There. Now I'm fine.'_

Yhtomit stared at the saddle. At length, he commented, _'I'm quite glad to be rid of that. Come, though, we need to get back to Maglor. He might have been killed by now!'_

Willop gave the horse a strange look. _'I quite agree, however, what are we to do? I cannot fly, and even if I could, that would only somewhat better our chances of rescuing him.'_

Yhtomit looked back to where they came from. Faint noises and cries reached his ear. _'I don't really know what we can do. But we can't just leave him to die.'_

They were both silent for a bit when the Mearas decided. _'I don't know what to do. However, if Ilúvatar gave him a task to complete, it _will_ be completed. We have only to trust that He will keep us alive.'_

Willop gave a curt nod with his head when he remembered the jewel. _'Alright then. Before we go and heroically rescue our elfin friend, I suggest we find away to keep the Silmaril with us, so it doesn't fall into the wrong hand. Here, lie down so we can hang it around your neck.'_

'_We could except the straps need to be shortened, otherwise the bag will be hitting my legs. The only way I can think of accomplishing that would be tying a knot in the straps.' _Yhtomit snorted in frustration, since neither of them had hands, making the task nigh impossible.

'_Well,' _began Willop. _'We could at least try. Come, lie down, we shall try it anyway.'_

Yhtomit obeyed grudgingly, still doubting, and Willop hopped off. The act of placing the straps around Yhtomit's neck wasn't really hard, but figuring out a knot was considerably difficult. However, the enduring Willop would not be beaten. With much perseverance, a secure, simple knot was tied. Proudly, Willop victoriously climbed back onto Yhtomit's back, and latched his claws on both the reins and the bag's straps.

Carefully, Yhtomit rose and joyously discovered that the bag would not hinder his movements in anyway. _'Now, we must find Maglor.'_

With Willop holding tight, the Mearas took off at his swiftest gallop in the direction from whence they came, in hopes of finding the elf alive.

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**Please review, and if you have a mind to, critique!**


	13. Ch13 A Prince Worried

**Hey, long time no see! Sorry 'bout that. **

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Legolas rose quickly from his seat, glad that the council had come to an end. So the decision was made, and the Ringbearer chosen; but he quite obviously couldn't go alone, and the little gardener hobbit couldn't be his sole companion. It was an obvious choice for Gandalf to be the guide, yet it also sounded as though more would be asked to accompany them.

As the elven-prince left the meeting place, he couldn't help but feel as if he should go as well. However, with his father's health in question, Legolas was hesitant to decide. He would most certainly have to talk with Lord Elrond about it; the older and wiser, elf would be most helpful.

Out of no where, Hirvegil suddenly appeared. "Well?" Upon learning that the council was to be held privately, the bodyguard immediately knew that it was important. "What was the meeting about?"

Legolas shook his head, smiling. "It was a _secret_ council. _Secret._ And yet, you still ask questions."

Hirvegil smiled back, and they began walking again. "I'm curious. Especially since only a choice few were invited."

"Honestly, Hirvegil. If it directly relates to me, I shall tell you."

Hirvegil sighed. "Fine then."

Legolas laughed, and then noticed something. "Where is Dimaether?"

"Dimaether is in the archery range. Since he is completely lacking in imagination, he was not at all curious about the secret council."

Legolas laughed again. "Good for him. Now, go on and join him, I will meet you there."

The prince turned to walk away.

"And where will you be?" Hirvegil asked.

"I have some things to discuss with Lord Elrond." Legolas looked over his shoulder to see Hirvegil start off for the range.

When he turned back, Legolas heard a voice say, "Excuse me."

Somewhat startled, he looked down. It was the oldest of the three hobbits at the meeting; the other two were standing a short distance away. "Yes?"

The hobbit smiled. "I don't think we ever met, but I'm Bilbo."

For a second, Legolas wasn't sure who it was. Then it donned on him. "The thief!"

The hobbit blushed, chuckling quietly and shuffling his feet. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say that, though, I do prefer 'burglar', not as harsh."

Legolas smiled kindly. "Or perhaps, 'Expert Treasure hunter'?"

Bilbo's smile widened with delight. "How did you know of that name?"

Legolas laughed. "I read an account of your adventure with the dwarves. Lord Elrond actually had it copied, and sent the copy to Mirkwood for our amusement. It was quite interesting, and I enjoyed it very much."

Bilbo was quite obviously happy with this announcement. "How wonderful! That particular adventure in Mirkwood is actually what I wished to speak with you about."

"Oh?" Legolas prompted, slightly puzzled.

"The butler, uh, what was his name?" Bilbo looked away, trying to remember the name.

"Galion?" Legolas suggested.

"Yes!" The old hobbit's face brightened momentarily. "Yes, Galion. Did he, uh, get in a terrible amount of trouble-he and the chief guard-when it was found out that we-or rather, the dwarves- escaped?"

Legolas smiled at the memory. Thranduil had been absolutely furious when told that every single dwarf had miraculously disappeared. The king had quickly called for the chief guard and questioned him closely. Upon discovery of the drunken state that the chief guard _and_ Galion had been in during what could've been the only time the dwarves could possibly have escaped, Thranduil had to leave the room for a few minutes in order to calm down. By then, both poor Galion and the chief guard were sure the king would banish them from Mirkwood. What saved them, however, was, in fact, the ring of keys still safely attached to the chief guard's belt.

"No," the prince replied. "No, my father couldn't understand how the keys could have stayed on the chief of guard's person, and the dwarves still escape. He only gave them a severe warning, and kept them away from the wine for quite some time."

Bilbo laughed and smiled happily. "Oh good! I was rather afraid that I had ruined their lives."

The hobbit thanked him and walked off to join his nephew, and Legolas resumed his search for Lord Elrond.

It did not take him long to find the famed healer, as he was in his study conversing with Gandalf and Erestor. Elrond smiled kindly as Legolas entered the room. Perceiving that Legolas wanted a private meeting with him, the elven-lord dismissed the wizard and counselor. Legolas acknowledged this kind gesture with a grateful smile. Once they were alone, they both sat, and Elrond spoke.

"What troubles you, Legolas?"

Unsure of what to say, the elvenprince was silent for a moment before replying. "I believe my father to be seriously ill, my lord."

Elrond leaned forward, clearly concerned. "How so?"

Again, Legolas hesitated. "I'm not quite sure. His light seems to have dimmed. And he seems to be…tired. However, he keeps assuring me that he is quite well. I don't quite know what to think of it."

"Dimmed? Has he seemed to be grieving?"

"Grieving? Nay! If anything, he seems to be more joyful lately. As far as I can tell, the only thing that could be causing him any grief is this incessant war! But it's been going on for so long, why would it be only now wearing him out to a point of…." Legolas didn't finish, terrified of speaking his thoughts. He sighed heavily. "It's scaring me."

Elrond sat back, deep in thought. Then he inquired, "Have there been any other instances that have worried you?"

Legolas hesitated a moment, trying to recollect any memory of such a strange occurrence. Then, one came, quietly tugging at his thoughts before he fully remembered it. "Aye. A few centuries ago, when I was still quite young, I remember following Adar to the throne room, when halfway there, he suddenly stopped, clutching his shoulder as if in pain. Belegorn sent one of the guards-Maegorod was ill that day-to fetch Relcah, and Adar couldn't hold court. I know Maegorod's illness was inflicted by a spider wound, but I don't know about Adar's. It seems that every year, around that time. Maegorod seems ill, and Adar a little less energetic." Legolas looked suddenly a little alarmed. "You don't suppose Adar was injured by a spider, do you? I saw a scar from an old bite wound recently!"

Elrond nodded slowly. "That's possible. However, the spider that could inflict so much damage that it affects the elf's health year after year must be incredibly powerful. There are only a few like that, and the most recent hasn't been seen in Mirkwood for at least and age-if not two. And even then, I'm not actually sure if Thranduil was alive when she was, or even in her vicinity."

Legolas was curious. "She? You speak as if she had a name."

Elrond was surprised. "I would've thought you had heard of Shelob. An offspring of Ungoliant-possibly the last."

It took a moment, but Legolas did remember the name. "Aye…it was rumored she was dead, though no one could find her body."

"Dead?" Elrond repeated.

"Aye, she had at least been dreadfully wounded after attacking…someone." Legolas' eyes widened as his sentence trailed off. "Ada," he whispered.

"What?" Elrond asked, not quite reaching the same conclusion.

"Adar was a young prince when it happened. He could've been the one she attacked!" In his excitement, Legolas started to rise from his seat.

Elrond held up a hand. "Calm down, Legolas. This could very well be true. But that wouldn't really explain why he would dim. I will have to travel to Mirkwood and examine him myself before this can be confirmed."

Legolas sat and nodded understandingly. "Yes. I just hate not knowing what's wrong. Why won't he just tell me the truth? Something is wrong, I can tell-my bodyguards can tell! I'm sure there are very few who can not!" Legolas sighed and put a hand to his forehead. "I don't know what to do."

Elrond waited a moment before speaking. "As soon as a few more companions are chosen for the Ringbearer, and their quest begun, I will go to Mirkwood to see your father."

Legolas looked up at the name 'Ringbearer.' "Oh…."

Elrond looked sharply at the young elf upon hearing the faltering voice. "Is there something else you wanted to discuss, Legolas?"

"Well," the elf shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I…I also have the strangest feeling that I should accompany the Ringbearer. However, I can't just go off on a quest while my father is possibly seriously ill. But, the feeling to go is…amazingly strong."

The elven-lord nodded. "I see. A decision such as this one can not be made hastily. I'm afraid that you and I will have to be doing some serious thinking on this."

Legolas rose. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I must take my leave of you now. I told my guards that I would only be a few moments, and they get worried easily."

They bowed to one another, and Elrond feared that the prince left with perhaps a heavier hear than he entered with.

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There were five people in the archery range when Legolas arrived-four elves and a human. They didn't notice his entrance at first; for Dimaether, Hirvegil, Elladin, and Elrohir were all listening intently to Aragorn as they ranger told of a stranger he had met in Bree.

"…It was very odd. He never removed his hood-at least while I was awake-and he had a peculiar accent. It was familiar, but I couldn't quite pinpoint what type of accent it was. I have a vague recollection of him speaking in another language, but so vague is this memory, that I can't recall any of it."

"Was he a man from the far north, do you think? Since they very, very rarely travel this far south, assuming they travel south at all, it could explain his accent," Dimaether commented.

Aragorn hesitated a moment before answering. "I'm not sure he was a man at all. He seemed extremely elvish. Though, it wouldn't surprise me if he had come from far north. He looked as if he had done a lot of traveling."

Legolas spoke up then. "What was his name? That should give us a clue, at least, as to where he's from. If he is an elf, he could be a dark one."

The others looked up quickly, startled at his seemingly sudden appearance.

"He called himself Roglam," Aragorn replied.

"Roglam?" Elrohir repeated. "What an odd name."

"Aye," agreed Elladin. "Not in any way elvish."

Aragorn shrugged at these comments.

"Stay!" Hirvegil cried suddenly. "I overheard some of the elves here talk about a strange elf with an incredible voice, even for us elves, that stayed here recently. I believe they called him Roglam."

Aragorn brightened at this. "That must be him! I remember him singing when I awoke the next morning!"

"Aragorn," Legolas began, ending the other conversation. "What is this talk of you 'being awake,' or just, 'waking'?"

Elrohir looked sharply at the man. "Were you injured or sick when you met him?"

Aragorn cringed, not wanting to converse on this subject. "Aye…I made a mistake, and was injured in a…scuffle at the inn."

"Oh?" Elladin encouraged, one eyebrow raised.

"And I was slightly wounded, nothing to worry about," Aragorn said, waving a hand to dismiss the subject.

"Slightly?" Elrohir pressed.

The Mirkwood elves found that they had to suppress grins of amusement. The twins were practically cornering Aragorn, intent on uncovering the whole truth. They looked so much like Elrond doing this, that Legolas thought that if he had walked in on them in the middle of this interrogation, that he would have believed himself to be seeing double of the elven-lord. From the piercing glares of the twins, Aragorn was sure to give up the story soon.

"Come, Estel," Elladin began. "We don't want to force the truth from you in an uncomfortable manner."

"And we most certainly do not want to drag Adar in to this," Elrohir added.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, not wanting to reveal his injury. "Adar already knows!"

This came as a surprise to the elves.

"You told him?" asked a disbelieving Elrohir.

Aragorn shook his head. "I did not tell him. I suppose Roglam did. A soon as he had tended to Frodo, Elrond pulled me into another healing room and requested to see my back."

"Requested?" Elladin repeated with a knowing look.

Aragorn chuckled. "Well, I suppose 'demanded' would have been a better choice of word."

Elrohir was occupied with other thoughts. "You said he asked to see your back. How in all of Middle-Earth did you injure your back?"

With a sigh, Aragorn realized that the truth must come out. Quickly, he related the events in Bree to the elves, and his actual meeting with "Roglam." Upon his ending, the twins began to torment Aragorn on his poor defense skills, immediately deciding that they were to "re-train" him in sword play and weaponry of related kinds. Legolas, however, wasn't at all interested in bettering anyone's defensive skills.

"You said he was an excellent healer."

Aragorn gladly turned his attention from the twins to the elvenprince. "Aye. It took, maybe, four days to heal completely. I'm not sure I can remember an instance when Elrond healed me from such a wound in so short a time-and Lord Elrond is thought to be the best in all the land!"

"Completely in four days?"

"Well, there was a scar…."

Dimaether glanced at the Ranger as if that statement had absolutely no relevance to the healing-scars were to be expected among humans. Then he changed the subject. "What was the council about?"

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged looks before the latter replied. "I believe it shall be made known soon enough. However, since it was a secret council, I think it best to keep the subject a secret as well for the time being."

The bodyguard scrutinized the prince before giving a single nod of understanding and obedience. All Hirvegil and Dimaether could think was that it involved traveling to a very dangerous place in Middle-Earth and that their beloved charge and prince wanted to go. However, they kept silent, knowing that pressing the truth would not help anything.

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**Okay, guys, you know the drill. Tell me if you love it, hate it. If it's perfect, or what it need improvement on. I'll try not to take so long in updating. -Jimmy**


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